Cold Rain
by altersuperego
Summary: Sequel to Dry Heat. Aizen proposes an exchange of prisoners of war. Hitsugaya unwillingly starts to remember his past. Nothing is what it seems, and everyone must choose a side. Violence, language. IchiRuki. Slight RanRen, UnoKen. Not a lot of romance
1. Chapter 1

_This is a sequel to Dry Heat, and, well, we'll see how it goes. I don't have it quite as well planned as the last one, so it'll be a lot longer between updates. This one should get pretty dark—don't let the first chapter fool you. There will be some light UnoKen and RanRen, and a lot more IchiRuki. But I don't believe in making a story ABOUT romance. _

_Warning: spoilers (not for anime-only folk) very bad language, lots of violence, serious angst and petty philosophizing. If you haven't read the last one, this one will make no sense._

_I would __**really**_ _appreciate criticism, even if it's something like, I dunno, "you need a comma between 'big' and 'nose' in the fourth paragraph." This chapter seems a little awkward to me, but I'm not sure how to fix it. Any suggestion would be very welcome. _

_For the record, it's not very easy switching between Yachiru-voice and Kenpachi-voice. And, by the way, Yachiru+angst -- damn hard. She's fun, though!_

_Not mine. _

Cold Rain

Chapter 1

Shadows

Ikkaku landed with a thud on the rooftop. Every muscle groaned as he straightened and stretched. This, he thought dully, was getting old. _I _am getting old. He gazed out on the Seireitei, its white walls dark. The slender crescent moon cast a pale sheen over everything, making the city look ghostly and unreal. It was _cold_, too, for August. Still, it was home. Home at last.

Three weeks! Ikkaku rubbed his eyes, exhausted. Three weeks of planet-side duty, slogging in the arrancar-infested trenches around Karakura Town. And then an ambush at the gates of the Seireitei. Ugh. All he wanted in the worlds was his bed, and quiet until morning. How did this happen? he thought wearily. How could Madarme Ikkaku ever get tired of fighting?

"That was so much fun!" Yachiru sang behind him. As usual, her pink hair was immaculate, her robes unwrinkled, her smile unfazed by the blood splattered all over her face.

Her cheerfulness seemed to snap the older man out of his dudgeon. Ikkaku wrinkled his nose, and glanced down at his superior officer. She had grown recently, he thought, half grudgingly, half fondly. She looked ten, eleven years old. At least the pint-sized monster wasn't still drooling on his head anymore. And it was so _cute_ when she went on her little homicidal rampages. "Yeah, well," he said, feigning annoyance, "don't hog all the fun next time, ok?"

Yachiru gave a surprisingly loud snort. "Q-ball could barely stand towards the end, and…"

"Shhh."

The girl looked up at her companion, eyes wide. He was tensed, staring straight ahead. He had drawn his zapakutou so quickly and quietly that she had not even noticed. Following his eyes, she looked down the length of the roof. They were standing on the 11th Division headquarters, on the slope facing the vast training grounds. Not a hundred yards away, she could make out a white shape crouched on the ceramic tiles.

Kinda small for a hollow, Yachiru thought dismissively, drawing her own katana from the folds of her robes. Leastways, a hollow worth fighting. A spy, maybe? She giggled at the thought. Kinda silly, trying to listen in on Ken-chan.

In a single flash step, Ikkaku stood over the still figure. From up close, even in the darkness, he could see that it was not hunched, but huddled, lying in a fetal position. For a split second he considered just running it through -- his bed was calling to him. Eh, the bald man shrugged, his old nature reasserting itself. Where's the fun in that? He nudged the white bundle with one foot. "Lucky!" he crowed, hefting Houzinmaru to his shoulders. A wide, feral grin spread across his face. Screw tired, he thought. Always room for one more fight. "I'm so luc…"

Bam! The shinigami felt his head slam against the rooftop before he even noticed that his feet had been swept away. Blinking back the stars dancing in his eyes, the Ikkaku felt two legs, perpendicular to his body, pinning his chest down. Someone had his right hand as well, he thought groggily.

Ikkaku knew how to recognize an arm bar; he had seen it a million times in the dojo. When your opponent had you in an arm bar, you tapped out. Everybody knew that. He'd never seen anyone actually execute the technique -- even for the 11th Squad, that'd be pretty barbaric.

That's why his scream, a moment later, was almost as surprised as it was hurt. It felt like his arm had been ripped out of its socket. With a gasp, Ikkaku forced himself to sit up and twist, letting the motion rip his numb hand free. Before he could pass out from the pain, he rolled out of the enemy's hold.

"Ooo!" Yachiru's voice cut through the haze of agony as he knelt, panting, cradling his injured arm. "I wanna play!"

Lightning-fast, the petite shinigami launched her attack before the hollow (actually, she thought, it looked sorta human now that it was all unfolded) could get to its feet. As she pulled back her sword, though, she felt two hands grip her uniform, one at the neck, another at the elbow. Simultaneously, a foot caught her at her belt and flung her small body up. Timed to match her forward momentum, the throw sent Yachiru skidding down, and almost over, the edge of the roof.

"Fukutaichou!" Ikkaku cried out, struggling to his feet. Furious, he turned towards the spy.

_Wait. _

He gaped for a long moment. The shadows were playing tricks on him.

_That's not possible._

The late Hitsugaya Toushirou stood before him, all in white, his emerald eyes almost black in the dim moonlight. He looked older. He looked angry. With a shudder, Ikkaku realized that the young captain -- the ghost -- whatever he was -- held Houzukimaru in his fist.

Madarame Ikkaku froze, noticing for the first time the icy, murderous reiatsu around him. He watched, paralyzed, as Hitsugaya disappeared, only to materialize the same instant behind the taller man's elbow. Ikkaku closed his eyes; he felt the tip of his own zanpakuto against his spine; he was going to die; what a stupid way to go.

"Yo, Madarame!"

Dazed, Ikkaku turned. He could feel a tickle at the small of his back where the blade had nicked him.

Zaraki Kenpachi towered behind him, a mass of ominous shadows. In one hand the huge man held Hitsugaya by the scruff of the neck, holding him just a few inches above the ground. With the other hand, he wrenched Houzukimaru out of the smaller shinigami's grasp, and tossed it to Ikkaku. "You're gettin' sloppy!" Zaraki growled.

"Captain," his third seat stuttered. He fumbled catching his sword, and then just let it drop. With his good arm, he pointed a shaking finger at the dangling Hitsugaya. The white-haired teenager scowled, but showed no further signs of aggression. Instead he reached up and behind his head, trying vainly to pry open Zaraki's huge hands.

"Oh yeah," the giant grunted. "You've been away. Good hunting?"

"G..good… yes… Captain …?"

Zaraki ignored him. "Oy, squirt!" he barked, shaking Hitsugaya like a puppy. "This is Ikkaku."

The young man snarled and kicked forward; Ikkaki barely backed away in time. Once again, the 11th squad Captain seemed unperturbed. "Ikkaku!" he bellowed again, not even looking at his subordinate.

"Ikkaku," Hitsugaya repeated sulkily.

"Not to kill." Zaraki yawned expansively. He gave his captive another small shake. "Go on and say it."

The teenager merely glared, and redoubled his efforts to free himself. Zaraki frowned and repeated: "NOT. TO. KILL."

"Poor Captain," a silvery voice said from the shadows. "He always did get cranky if someone woke him up."

Matsumoto Rangiku stepped forward. She looked … relieved. Her uniform hung on her generous body even more carelessly that usual, as if she had dressed in haste. She had not, however, forgotten her zanpakutou. The blade shimmered softly in her right hand, and Ikkaku thought, for just a moment, that she shot him a very nasty look. Hitsugaya saw her and scowled, but his spirit energy seemed to calm a little in her presence.

"Big Boobies!" Yachiru cried happily. She had just appeared by Ikkaku's side, dusting herself off. Kenpachi nodded to the small girl, a sort of paternal affection in the motion.

Yachiru beamed up at her best friend. Ken-chan was so awesome! He'd even bagged himself a …a what, exactly? Her big eyes narrowed slightly as she studied Hitsugaya. A big kid, she thought. Fifteen? Kinda grumpy. He looked sorta familiar, too. "Do I know that guy?"

"You do," Matsumoto said, sheathing Haineko. "But it's been a while."

"What are you doing here?" Zaraki asked shortly. He didn't much like being woken, either. It had to be two in the #$ morning. The faintest hint of a chilly breeze stirred through the darkness, and he shivered.

The Captain of the Ninth Division shrugged her shoulders, and pushed her unbrushed blond hair to her back. "I felt his reiatsu spike, so I thought I'd come check on him."

Zaraki snorted derisively. "Goddamned mother hen," he muttered. "You'll make Abarai jealous, you carry on like this."

"Oh, I'm already jealous." Abarai Renji, Captain of the Fifth Division, landed quietly behind Matsumoto. "And sleep-deprived. She gets out of bed every hour or so." He hadn't bothered to dress at all, and his sleeping robes offered little protection against the unseasonable cold. Rangiku leaned back into him, turned her head, and pecked him on the cheek. Despite the peevishness in his voice, the redhead smiled.

"Monkey-chan!" Yachiru greeted the newcomer, grinning from ear to ear. Then she paused, and put one finger to her lips. "How does Monkey-chan know when Big Boobies gets out of bed?" she asked. "Are you a goddamned mother hen, too?"

Renji stared down at the little girl, blinking slightly. Instinctively, he took his hand off Matsumoto's hip, and thanked God that no one could see him blush in the dark. "Ah," he said, looking wildly to the 11th Squad Captain for help, "Well, I, uh…"

Zaraki sighed. The boy hated being held like this, and he was starting to scratch. "Yachiru," the giant said, shifting his struggling burden to the other hand, "Remember that talk we had last month?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, I wasn't gonna tell you till you were older, but Abarai's … you know… like that."

"Oh!" Instantly, Yachiru was in front of Matsumoto, leaning over to stare up at Renji. "You mean whipped?"

"Just so."

"oy!"

The small girl gave a delighted squeal and threw her arms around Matsumoto's waist. "Big Boobies is so cool!" she cooed. "One day I'm going to get a boytoy, too!"

"OY!"

Yachiru mediated a moment, watching the tall man behind Matsumoto stutter. "What do you do with a boytoy, exactly?" she asked, lifting a silky pink eyebrow. "Ken-chan wasn't real clear on that part." Her expression seemed to doubt whether Renji would be much use to anyone.

"Not so fast, Yach," Zaraki snapped. "Remember the rules." He turned his attention back to Hitsugaya, whose reiatsu was turning dangerous again. "Alright, pipsqueak, I'm droppin' ya. You settle down, hear me? I've got some new recruits for you to beat up tomorrow, if you're good."

He released the teenager, who landed gracefully and promptly vanished into the darkness. Ikkaku stared after him, open-mouthed. "Wh … " he choked out, "wh… what the hell??? Wasn't he dead??"

Nobody answered him. Abarai was still fuming, and Zaraki looked half-asleep. Matsumoto chuckled and ruffled Yachiru's hair, as the small fukutaicho still had a death grip on her hips. Then, suddenly, a look of astonishment crossed the small face. She remembered, now! Green eyes, white hair, ice traps, lectures, scoldings, kinda good in a fight… sometimes shared candy when he didn't think anyone was looking. "HEY!" she yelled, causing all the men to look around, alarmed. "That was Snowball-chan!"

"Mm-hmm," Matsumoto continued to stroke Yachiru's hair. "I'm glad you remember him! He's a little confused right now, but your Taichou is taking good care of him."

The girl blinked, surprise on her pretty features. "Ken-chan?"

"Mmg," Zaraki smacked his lips sleepily and started to turn away. "Brat won't sleep in the barracks. Stupid little claustrophobic pissant." The big man glanced over at his third seat officer. "Better drop in at the fourth, Ikkaku," he said. "That arm don't look so good. Welcome back, you two." Without another word, he jumped off the roof and headed towards his quarters.

Yachiru slowly released Matsumoto, who kissed her goodnight and then left with Renji. This doesn't make sense, the small girl thought, her forehead wrinkling with unexpected emotion. She didn't remember that far back so well… but she was pretty sure Big Boobies took care of Snowball-chan. Ken-chan took care of HER. What was HE doing on top of HER barracks?

Ikkaku headed through the darkened streets towards the medical division. The shock was wearing off, and his arm was starting to scream at him. His legs felt like lead, but he forced them forward. He couldn't help remembering, a little nervously, that Hitsugaya was somewhere in the city. The kid had not, after all, promised not to kill him.

ooooooooooooooooooo

The arrancar knelt and dropped her head, black hair covering her eyes. "Aizen-sama," she murmured. Though her voice was soft, the words seemed to echo around the great empty chamber. Having answered her master's summons, the half-hollow did not ask for his reasons, did not flatter, or fidget. She knelt, and she waited.

From his high seat Aizen looked down on his servant. She moved so gracefully, he thought. She held still so gracefully. Perhaps that explained the fascination she held for so many men. "I have an errand for you, my dear," he said, standing. Within the space of a breath he had moved down to her. With one hand he lifted her chin gently. "I would like you to pay a visit to the Seireitei."

The permanent half-light of the Hueco Mundo played in her dark velvet eyes as she stared up at him. But no emotion crossed her delicate features. "Of course, Aizen-sama."

Aizen smiled, and traced the line of her cheek with one finger. She really was lovely, he thought. Beautiful and deadly. Without doubt, one of his finest creations. "Thank you, Kuchiki," he murmured.

TBC

_So, there you have it. Let me know what you think! Out of character? (well, Hitsu and Ruki are OOC, but come on…) Confusing? Boring? Will update eventually._


	2. Chapter 2

_OK, Chapter 2. This .. is turning out longer than I expected. This whole scene was supposed to be one of three in this chapter. It's a little ponderous; I apologize. I've probably put too much backstory into this, and not enough bloodshed. It's just that I've been reading a lot of history lately, about WWI and Vietnam, and, well, some related themes have jumped into the story. What's more, now that they're in, I can't seem to get them out. I think they're interesting, and the war situation is going to be important to the plot. But if you're bored, don't worry. Mayhem coming up._

_Warnings: terrible language, spoilers, gratuitous snuggling, detailed but necessary backstory._

_Not mine._

_Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you for the reviews. They are AWESOME! I've wanted to write, like, two page replies, but I understand that that would be rude._

Chapter 2

Breeze

Zaraki swore. Then he swore again, threw his zanpakutou to the ground, and jumped on it. "ARRGH! Talk to me, you dumb #($&$#&$#$&#$(#(#&#$&#!!!!!!!"

Sitting on a tall rock nearby, just by the waterfall, Hitsugaya buried his face in one hand. But his bright green eyes continued to watch Zaraki through his fingers, mesmerized. There was something hypnotic about the man's frenzied, childish anger.

"Uh … I might be wrong," Renji called out, from the other side of the river, "but that may not be the best way to go about this."

Zaraki made a string of personal observations about Renji's mother, which Renji ignored. He had been an orphan as long as he could remember, after all. For the last two hours he had helped Zaraki train by the riverbank and in the surrounding woods. Hitsugaya, he knew, had been there since the early morning. The two of them had attacked in turn, defended, retreated, attacked, trying to coax out Zaraki's reluctant zanpakutou.

"Ooof!" Zaraki staggered backwards, tripped, and fell into the shallow stream. Hitsugaya, he realized a second later, had body-checked him in the stomach. "Dammit! I'll kill you, you brain-damaged midget!! " When the hell did the brat get so _fast,_ the big man wondered, irritated. He lifted himself, dripping, from the water, flexing his fingers dangerously.

Hitsugaya dug one toe beneath Zaraki's nameless zanpakutou. Then, with a single fluid motion, he kicked the blade into the air and caught it in his right hand. With a disorienting rush, Zaraki felt the murmur rise in his mind again. The same voice had whispered to him for weeks now, never fully forming words. An awareness that was not quite a presence, a hum on the edge of song. Zaraki was a straightforward man, and he did not like it.

"Give that back," he growled.

The white-haired teenager stared down the length of the ragged sword, his eyes mirrored in its gleam. The Eleventh Squad Captain felt a small chill.

"Give. That. Back."

Hitsugaya seemed to come out of a trance, and looked momentarily confused. Instinctively, he turned his head to search for Matsumoto. She was resting at the top of a tall bank, under an oak tree. She had taken the first shift before Renji, and now she sat with Yachiru on a blanket in the shade. "Captain!" the blonde called down, "I don't think you're concentrating!" Neither Zaraki nor Hitsugaya could guess which of them she meant.

"Give that back to Ken-chan, you booger!!!" Yachiru was on her feet, her pink brows knit together. She had been here since daybreak as well. But when she had discovered that Hitsugaya's participation could not be dispensed with ("This &#$ zanpakutou has some kind of &#$ thing," Zaraki had explained) she had taken to sulking on the sidelines.

Instead of complying, Hitsugaya drove the zanpakutou's blade into the muddy soil of the bank. He stood there for a moment, one hand on the pommel, tapping the hilt with one finger. He looked like he was trying to remember something. Zaraki folded his arms and waited, a sour expression on his face.

Hitsugaya was useful, he thought. Useful but annoying. The kid was growing stronger all the time – drank a lake of water a day, seemed like. And though he lapsed in and out of lucidity, he was clearly regaining some sense of himself. He very seldom spoke. Matsumoto and Unohana seemed best able to interpret his moods, and he clung to them, unembarrassed. All the same, Zaraki guessed that while the brat was happiest with the women, his mind was sharpest in battle. Maybe that was why he tagged around the Eleventh Division -- Zaraki Kenpachi's pale, silent shadow.

"What!?" the giant barked, losing patience. "What are you trying to say? Use your goddamned words!"

"Don't bully him," Abarai snapped. Renji crouched on the other side of the water below the falls. The Captain of the Fifth Squad wasn't in regimentals today, or on any day that he could help it. Instead he wore a simple training gi, white trimmed with brown. It made him look younger, somehow, almost like an academy student. "He'll talk when he's ready."

"Reflect," Hitsugaya said suddenly, still tapping. Both men turned to him.

"Reflect on what?" Zaraki grunted. "Meditate, you mean? You know how many hours I've freakin' meditated? You know how much &#$-all it's got me?"

The teenager shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed. "Reflect," he repeated. He looked at Renji, then at Rangiku. He touched his own chest. Then he looked back at Zaraki, an expectant look on his face.

The big captain stared, utterly bewildered. _That's it_, he thought, clenching his jaw. _I kill the cryptic little bastard_.

"Captain! Lunch!" Matsumoto called, and this time there was no question who she meant. Hitsugaya flash-stepped up the bank faster than any of them could follow with their eyes. To reach the food in his former lieutenant's lap, he had to sit right next to her. Which was, of course, what she had intended.

Renji grinned and sheathed Zabimaru. "Coming, Zaraki-taichou?"

"Nah," Kenpachi answered, still glowering. "I'll try this meditation gag. #$& waste of time."

He lowered his massive frame to ground and sat, cross-legged, in front of his zanpakutou. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

Yachiru, who had materialized at his side the moment Hitsugaya had left it, also sat, folding her legs into a perfect lotus position and placing her tiny hands on her knees. She squeezed her eyes closed as hard as she could (though every now and then she lifted one eyelid to peek at Zaraki.) All the same, Renji couldn't help thinking that the little girl looked more at peace than her mentor.

"Ah well," he mused, "might as well grab some lunch." He looked up the bank to the oak tree, where Matsumoto had caught her captain in a fierce hug. Might as well save the poor kid from suffocation, he thought with a smile.

oooooooooooooooooooo

That was not how Rangiku interpreted Renji's actions when he plopped down on the ground behind her, and gave her a sharp poke in the ribs.

"Aw," she said teasingly, "you have cuddle-envy!"

Renji stretched his lanky legs and leaned into the oak tree. "I'm just making sure he doesn't pull any moves on my woman," he answered with a mock frown.

Hitsugaya turned to watch Renji over Matsumoto's shoulder for a long moment. His eyes were wary, as if he were trying to decide if the redhead was a threat. "Abarai," he murmured at last, then turned his attention back to the food. He looked so serious, thin knees drawn up to his chest, sandwich clutched in both hands. Renji resisted an urge to pat the kid on the head.

'His woman' felt no such restraint. As her captain leaned back on her left shoulder, she raised that hand to brush into the boy's thick white hair. Hitsugaya blinked at her, surprised, but made no move to stop her. Matsumoto continued to stroke his hair, smoothing the spikes, brushing loose strands back from his face. She had always longed to do this, when her captain was small, and had never dared to.

Lulled, Hitsugaya rubbed his eyes – he'd been fighting all morning. He sank deeper into her embrace, letting his cheek rest against her chest. Matsumoto felt a bubble of joy rise in her heart. She beamed back at Renji (who rolled his eyes at her) and planted the lightest kiss on the top of her captain's head.

"He's letting you touch him, now?" a sudden voice made them all jump, and Matsumoto had to grip Hitsugaya's shoulders to stop him from bolting. Ichigo, who had come from behind them, raised his hands in apology, and spoke in a lower tone. "That's a good sign."

"Kurosaki!" Zaraki roared from his seat by the stream. "Shut the #$ up!!! I'm meditating here!"

"Yeah!" Yachiru's voice piped along. "Shut the #$ up!!"

Ichigo chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. "I thought _my _old man was a bad influence," he murmured. Matsumoto greeted him with a nonchalant motion, and gestured to the free corner of the picnic blanket.

"He's letting _Rangiku_ touch him," Renji said, reaching for an apple, "and as you can see, she's taking shameless advantage. I wouldn't try it, if I were you." He looked the newcomer over. Ichigo was wearing his captain's robes, and they didn't look fresh. His face looked as worn as his clothing. Just got back from the Earth front, Renji thought, and hasn't even changed yet. He almost didn't want to ask. "How're things at home?"

Ichigo shrugged and looked away. "Same as always. Oh, except that the U.N. cut back on air drops again. People are starting to get hungry."

"Why would they do that?" Matsumoto hissed, trying to keep the outrage out of her reiatsu. Hitsugaya felt it anyway and tensed.

To her surprise, it was Renji who answered. He'd done a long stretch on planetside, and he had picked up on the political situation better than most Shinigami. "It's been five years, honey," he said wearily. "And it's expensive to feed a city. They don't know what's going on; they don't know who to blame; people are starting to move on. No one'll notice if they drop a ton or two less, 'cept the poor bastards who go short."

"Dad's been trying to get agriculture going for a while now," Ichigo said, helping himself to a bento box that Matsumoto pointed towards. "But it's not easy. The Field cuts off a lot of sunlight."

"Urahara can't modify the Field?"

"Maybe," Ichigo swallowed a mouthful of rice. "He won't risk it yet, though. If the Field weakens…" He didn't have to finish the sentence. They all knew that the Field stopped all otherworld portals inside and above the city. Unable to materialize into Karakura, the arrancars had laid siege around it. For the past five years, Soul Society had maintained an armed perimeter around the city limits, beating back the invaders. The defenders were dedicated, brave, savagely weaponed… and exhausted. If even a few arrancars could break through the Field directly into the city…

On the other hand, Ichigo thought grimly, at least a general slaughter would get the UN's attention. Then he sighed. That wasn't fair. Regular humanity was at its wits' end, after all. They couldn't see either army. All they knew was that no one could get in or out of Karakura. Everyone who tried would die on the outskirts of the city, struck down by an invisible force. The best scientific experts were baffled, wildly speculating at some massive, undetectable, bloodthirsty electromagnetic field. Some people pointed at North Korea, some people at America. No one knew what to do.

The townspeople were just as clueless, but _they_ couldn't tune out the situation. Those who had survived the initial onslaught were left trapped, bereaved, bored, and now hungry. Interestingly, more and more people were developing spirit powers. Recently some of them had tried to attack the Shinigami, who looked a lot more like jailors than protectors. Karakura was turning into a very strange place.

"How are the Vaizards?" Renji asked, his mouth full of apple.

"Arrogant pricks."

"The same, then. And the Quincys?"

Ichigo made a helpless gesture, but couldn't say anything.

Matsumoto looked sad. "The same, then."

"Speaking of food, how did you get this spread?" Ichigo asked, abruptly changing the subject. "I thought we were rationed." Seireitei was under virtual siege as well. Arrancar raids on the Rukongai diverted military resources from the Earth front, and often disrupted supply lines to the Court of Pure Souls.

"Oh, I've... um.." the blond woman flushed a little, "I've been saving a little ("Hoarding!" Renji broke in behind her), you know, for a special occasion. And Unohana helped out quite a bit." She ruffled Hitsugaya's hair again. "She says that she's making allowances for medical needs."

"Here's to Shorty, then," Ichigo said, raising his bento in the air. "May your friends continue to benefit from your misfortune."

Unexpectedly, Hitsugaya laughed. Not loud or long – it was more like a monosyllabic chuckle – but it was a laugh. Discomfited by everyone's surprise, the boy shrunk a little behind Matsumoto again. But he didn't break eye contact with Ichigo. After a brief moment of concentration, he spoke again. "Welcome back." His voice was husky, but more confident than it had been.

Ichigo smiled. "Thanks, Toushirou," he said.

oooooooooooooooooooo

They ate for a while in companionable silence. Hitsugaya, having eaten all that he wanted, stood up and stretched. He went ten yards upstream and dove fully dressed into the deep pool at the base of the waterfall. Yachiru, her eyes hurting from all the meditating, also climbed to her feet. Ken-chan wasn't watching, she thought happily. Time for a little payback. Squealing, she jumped in after her rival, pelting him with handfuls of water. There _might_ have been a little reiatsu mixed in the splashes.

For a second the older shinigami stiffened and prepared to move, worried that Hitsugaya would seriously defend himself. But after his initial shock, his green eyes narrowed and a half smile played across his face. _This is my element, little girl,_ he seemed to say. The next moment they could hardly see the pool for the torrential water fight that ensued.

Matsumoto pulled her knees up and hugged them. "Captain used to come here," she said dreamily, "when he got really stressed. I thought I was sooo sneaky when I trailed him. But then one day he just turned around and said," her voice took on a lower pitch, "dammit, Matsumoto, come out or go home."

Renji stared down at Zaraki, still meditating by the water's edge and still radiating frustration. "I like it here. It's…" he paused, unsure how to express his mood. Not sure he _could_ express it, without destroying it. "It's peaceful. Even with the war still on, and everyone so tired, I feel … light. Happy."

Ichigo nodded. "It's a good place." It had been hard going home, hard seeing Karin fighting in the trenches, hard watching Yuzu tend the injured. Reporting to Seireitei hadn't been much easier – some of the souls in Rukongai 54 had started rioting shortly before he arrived, and the squads were in shambles. But here by the water it all seemed to disappear, born away on the sweet-smelling wind.

"Inoue gave me a word for it once," he said, his throat tightening a little, "during an English class. Her favorite word, she said--the name of some mythical bird. It's supposed to nest on the ocean for seven days before the winter solstice. Charms the waves, calms the sea."

"Halcyon," Matsumoto murmured, her face against her knees.

"How did you know that?" Ichigo turned to her, surprised. The woman did not answer, and he continued. "While the halcyon nests, there's peace. Protecting its babies, you know? Thing is, when the chicks finally hatch, they bring on the winter storms."

No one said anything. All that could be heard was faint birdsong, the rustle of leaves, and the movement of water. They remembered another quiet season long ago, and the tempest that had followed.

"I can't help feeling," Ichigo said, his gaze turning up to the drifting clouds, "that this is another one of those times."

In the mottled shade of the oak tree, Matsumoto shivered. Renji, sitting behind her, slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her a little closer. Feeling his breath warm in her hair, Matsumoto relaxed. She watched silently as the waterfall beat down around Hitsugaya and Yachiru, watched the turbulent stream as it flowed relentlessly away. So these were stolen moments, she thought. So what? She took what she could get, these days.

oooooooooooooooooooo

Yamamoto lifted one papery hand. "Go," he ordered quietly.

"But Sou-taichou," his lieutenant whispered, not sure where to look, "some of the captains are on leave until tomorrow; they could be anywhere…."

"Then find them!" A sudden blast of heat convinced his subordinate to leave. Quickly.

The old man turned to the Hueco Mundo emissary who knelt, straight-backed, before him. "They will all gather this evening in the great hall," he said impassively. From ancient practice, he allowed no emotion to show. "Are you happy?"

Kuchiki Rukia smiled -- a hard, joyless thing. "Very," she said.

TBC

_This is a shameless self-review, but I like the expression "cuddle envy." _


	3. Chapter 3

_Ah… another scene that just got way longer than expected. Explosions and fighting still postponed._

_Arg. Long talking scene – too many words, not enough happens. But I can't really find a part that can be cut out. Once again, suggestions welcome._

_Warnings: spoilers and extreme angst. Author may have emotional issues._

_Not mine._

_(Oh and language stuff – _o-hisashiburi _means "Long time no see." _Tawake _is a kinda old-fashioned word meaning "idiot". It's the way they would have said "baka" in the shogunate period, and it's what Rukia always calls Ichigo in the manga. Nakama – friend, companion, teammate.)_

Chapter 3

Ashes

High Commander Yamamoto Genryuusai took a seat in his high chair. Before him the twelve other captains of the Gotei 13 were assembling. They arrived one by one, nodding perfunctory greetings, shuffling their white robes. Outside the shadows were lengthening, and Yamamoto's third seat was lighting the braziers along the walls of the great hall. The soft golden light made for a somber, almost sleepy atmosphere. Everyone looked too tired to say much.

Two long lines of chairs were arranged where the captains would usually stand. "Hey, we get to sit!" Renji said as he entered, with a weak attempt at humor. "That's a first."

Yamamoto grunted. "This may be a long affair."

6th Squad Captain Kuchiki Byakuya, silent as always, radiated impatience. His squad had been dispatched to put down the Rukongai uprising yesterday. It was messy work, and it wasn't finished. Having their captain peremptorily recalled mid-way would only make the task more difficult.

Everyone but Matsumoto of the 9th had arrived. The Captain of the 10th Squad, Kurosaki, told them that she had been delayed by unspecified "women's issues." She requested that the meeting should start without her.

The commander sighed. He really didn't want to know. "Very well," he said, "she will have to catch up. This is the situation." He paused. Get it over with, old man, he told himself.

"An emissary for the Hueco Mundo has approached me. Aizen is proposing a cease-fire." A muttering went through the gathered captains. "He has offered to withdraw all of his troops surrounding Karakura town for the next twelve hours. During that time we, as a group, will try to reach an agreement with his representative."

"How can we know the offer is on the level?" Kyouraku asked. The 8th Division Captain looked aged and weary; his lieutenant's death had hit him pretty hard.

Yamamoto folded his hands over his wooden cane. "The arrancars have already retreated from the city limits." He saw Ichigo stir. "Obviously, we are taking the opportunity to evacuate as many humans from Karakura as possible."

Several of the Captains were on the edge of their seats, not just Ichigo. But no one cheered or even smiled. This was not just good news. This very clearly fell under the "too good to be true" news classification. "This 'representative' must have one doozy of a mission statement," Zaraki grunted, "for Aizen to risk so many souls on one toss."

The old man closed his eyes. "That is what I fear," he said, scarcely audibly. "I am sure that by accepting these negotiations, we are walking into a trap. However, for the sake of the human population, we have no choice. I must warn you, this ambassador…"

At that moment, Matsumoto arrived, Hitsugaya in tow. "Sorry to be late," she beamed. "I won't explain why."

"Thank you," Renji muttered.

"Matsumoto-taichou," Yamamoto said in alarm, half-rising. "Hitsugaya-kun should not be here."

The blonde woman folded her arms and put her hands on Hitsugaya's shoulders. The young shinigami, truth be told, did not look like he wanted to be there. His head turned about and about the room, and his muscles were tight. He reached up to grasp Matsumoto's right hand. Something was wrong here. "This is captain's meeting," she said slowly, "and he is a captain. His rank was never rescinded. He doesn't speak much, these days, but that doesn't mean he can't be useful."

"Matsumoto," the senior commander's face was ominous, "I order you to remove him immediately."

"Let Hitsugaya stay," a stranger's voice interceded. All heads turned towards the doorway. A slim figure stood there, outlined against the sunset light outside. "This involves him." The newcomer walked down the corridor of chairs, until she stopped roughly in the middle of the line. One hand rested carelessly on the hilt of her zanpukutou, an easy and confident smile on her face. Her huge black eyes sparkled around the room. "_O-hisashiburi da, ne_? Been a long time!"

After a stupefied instant, Renji and Ichigo leapt to their feet. "Rukia!" Renji cried joyfully, starting forward. Ichigo could only gape at her, too stunned to speak. Ukitake stood slowly. Hisagi and Kira half rose, but then some instinct warned them not to continue.

At the first position to Yamamoto's right, Byakuya's hands closed so tightly on the arms of his chair that the wood broke. The snap reverberated through the suddenly quiet room. Byakuya made no further motion.

"Yo, Ichigo! Renji!" Rukia said, tossing them an idle two fingered salute. "Captain," she smiled at Ukitake. "O-nii-sama," she murmured, nodding at Byakuya.

No one answered. Instead, they began to squint. It seemed like the room was filling with pinpricks of light. A small whirlwind seemed to surround the black-haired woman, tiny, swirling, glinting slivers of ice. At first they floated prettily, catching the firelight and breaking it into iridescent sparkles. Then the storm grew denser, flying faster and wider. The captains began to lift their sleeves in front of their faces. The little shards were sharp.

"An attack, _Ambassador_?" Yamamoto queried, stern-faced.

"Not mine," Rukia answered. She had not so much as flinched under the maelstrom, and her smile had not wavered.

"Captain, no!" Matsumoto cried. Hitsugaya had shaken free of her and had stepped forward, wearing an expression of pure, malignant fury. He raised one hand, fingers curled, towards Kuchiki. The ice particles seemed to triple in number suddenly, and the assembly shivered under a blast of frigid air. Two scratches appeared on Rukia's cheek, and started bleeding. Still, she did not move.

Zaraki swore and launched himself at Hitsugaya, beating the ice out of his way with one hand. Long before he reached the boy, though, a powerful gust caught the big man, lifted him off his feet, and flung him against the far wall of the chamber.

Hitsugaya took another step towards Rukia, his teeth bared.

"Stop." Captain Unohana stood next to the white haired teenager, her zanpakutou drawn. Hitsugaya hesitated, but did not look away from his target. "Hitsugaya-taichou," Unohana said smoothly, "if you continue, I will restrain you. You know that I can. Please lower your reiatsu."

For a moment he looked defiant. Then, with a shudder, he let his hand drop. A shower of crystals fell to the floor with a little musical patter. Zaraki picked himself up and returned to his seat, rubbing his jaw and muttering. "Matsumoto-taichou," Unohana said, her voice pale but deliberate. "Bind him,"

Shaking, Matsumoto placed a kidou on Hitsugaya. Then for good measure she stepped forward and held his arms behind his body. The boy did not resist, but he did not look at her.

"He's recovered faster than I would have expected," Rukia said, shaking the ice out of her hair. For the first time they noticed a circular bone on the black head, like a slim tiara. "It's impressive that he has so much control over his spirit power already. Now," she continued, "shall we begin?" She unzipped her outer garment, a long white jacket, and took it off. A gasp rose from the room. She was wearing a simple white kimono underneath, tied with a black obi. The fabric was also trimmed with black, in front and behind, around the gaping hole in her chest.

ooooooooooooooooo

It felt as if time had stopped.

Neither Renji nor Ichigo could move or breathe. Ukitake sank nervelessly back into his chair.

"As I was saying," rukia said cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their horror, "to business. We both know the war to be stalemated. Let's be honest. Your defensive position gives you an advantage, as does your weaponry. Our science department, unfortunately, can't boast any Urahara Kisukes. On the other hand, with the Hougyoku, we outnumber and outpower you. In a year's time, maybe two, we _will_ take Karakura.

"By that time, however, a great many of the city's million souls will have starved to death, and it won't be worth the trouble." She wrinkled her nose playfully. "Quite the pickle, huh? So, Aizen-sama proposes that we regroup. A temporary armistice, while we discuss terms. In the meantime, we will return the shinigami we have captured in battle – thirty-two, at the last count. Soul Society will release her arrancar prisoners. I believe you have taken eighty-seven alive."

"Oh dear oh dear," Kurotshuchi Mayuri twittered, rubbing his long hands together. "Our subjects – prisoners, I mean to say, guests … well, I had no idea that they would be wanted again." A broad nasty grin spread across face, "Even if you reclaim them, and they aren't exactly what I would call battle-ready, oh my no, not even peace-ready, some of them …"

No reaction. "Well," Mayuri continued, looking less sure of himself, "if you insist on having them, I'm afraid some of them have, well, as could not be avoided, inevitable sacrifice to science, surely you understand, some of them have died. We could only return seventy to you, at this moment."

"Seventy-one, then" Rukia said calmly, "including Hitsugaya Toushirou."

There was a moment of stunned silence. Still holding her captain's arms, Matsumoto turned slightly, as if to protect him with her body. "This is an exchange of prisoners," she snarled, "Why would we give one of our own to you?" In her fierce grip, Hitsugaya had become unnaturally still, his eyes locked on the black-haired arrancar.

The dark head turned, and one eyebrow lifted. "Oh, but he isn't one of yours. He volunteered to stay in the Hueco Mundo, after all."

"Why would he do that??!" Matsumoto spat. Beside her, Unohana shifted slightly. She was struck by an awful premonition.

Rukia's dark eyes widened slightly, as if surprised. "To save Hinamori Momo, of course."

For the first time, Renji shook himself awake and spoke. It sounded as if his voice came from far away. "Will Hinamori be returned? Is she one of the thirty-two?"

Rukia shrugged. "If you want her to be."

Renji forced himself to look at her. "And will you?" he whispered.

She did not face him, merely glanced over her shoulder in a disdainful manner. "No."

Ichigo suddenly took a deep breath, like a gasp, as if he had been long submerged and had just come to the surface. It was evident from his face that he had not followed anything that had just been said. Prisoners, negotiations, numbers -- nothing had sunk in. Only the monstrous hole in his friend's chest. "Rukia," he choked, stepping forward. Yamamoto hissed in warning, to no effect. "Rukia, you have to fight this." He stepped forward. "Aizen has done this to you; this isn't who you are."

The young man's voice was rising steadily, even as he blinked back tears. "You can beat the hollow inside you. I have; you can. I can show you, just … just trust me. Just …" he raised one hand to her, pleadingly. "I can save you."

Kuchiki Rukia gazed at him a moment, an unreadable expression on her face. Then she laughed. A laugh like herself, unrefined, unaffected, delicate and strong and inherently beautiful. Her own laugh, which had so endeared her both in the Rukongai and at Karakura High. "_Tawak_e," she said fondly. "Fool. _You_ can save _me_? Why do you think _I _stayed in the Hueco Mundo?"

He stared at her helplessly, unwilling, even unable, to turn his mind in that direction.

She smiled at him, and he looked away. Even her smile was the same as it had been, half-gentle, half-mocking. "You don't really think," she asked gaily, "that the four of you could have left the Hueco Mundo alive, if Aizen-sama hadn't let you go? " Her face hardened, ever so slightly. "Do you think he would have let you go for free?"

It seemed as if the entire assembly was holding its breath. Among the dozen white-coated shinigami, not a murmur, not a rustle of fabric could be heard.

It was Kuchiki herself who broke the tension. She let out an exasperated sigh, blowing a loose lock of hair out of her eyes. "Really, Ichigo," she scolded, one hand on her hip, "you look like a gutted fish. Stop gawking! You knew full well that I had touched the Hougyoku of my own free will."

Ichigo could only stare dumbfounded at her, as did Renji. "After all," she continued, turning back to Yamamoto's high chair, "that's what your message said, isn't it? Four years ago, today." She began to speak in lofty tones, obviously quoting: "Hitsugaya Toushirou and Kuchiki Rukia are guilty of insubordination, conspiracy, and desertion in time of war. They have of their own volition committed treason, and have forfeited their rights as officers in the Gotei 13. No concessions will be made for their repatriation."

Rukia sneered. For the first time she looked alien, unfamiliar. "And now you say you want to keep little Hitsu-chan. As a pet, maybe? What changed your mind?"

This time there was no silence. Instead, murmurs rippled through the room as every eye turned to the high commander. But as no one seemed brave enough to stand forward, Ukitake decided to speak for everyone. He cleared his throat rather noisily. "What .. what does she mean, Yamamoto-dono? Surely … a prisoner exchange has not been proposed before now?"

The old man did not answer. The murmurs grew, and the spirit energy in the room began to mount dangerously. Even Kuchiki Byakuya's carefully controlled reiatsu began to flare. Rukia turned slowly, taking in the stunned faces around her. "He didn't tell you?" she asked, incredulous. "You really didn't know."

Renji's temper, never easily mastered, broke down entirely. "Of COURSE we didn't know!!!" he thundered. Eyes blazing, he grabbed the front of Rukia's white uniform, and yanked the tiny woman off her feet. "Do you think we would have left you there, if we thought you might be alive!?!??"

All of his life, Abarai Renji had hidden behind anger. He used it to mask his sloppier emotions – his insecurities, his fears. But now he felt his fury slip away, abandoning him in his hour of need.

That was exactly what Rukia had thought. One look at her face confirmed it. She had sacrificed herself for them, for Ichigo, Renji, Ishida and Matsumoto. She had given up her humanity so that they could go home. And they had abandoned her.

She had waited for them, Renji realized. His heart turned cold in his chest. They didn't have the power to rescue her, and Rukia knew it. Probably she had hoped that they would not try. But still, she had _expected_ them to try. They were her _nakama_. She had waited for five years, and they had never come. When Aizen had offered to free her, Soul Society had refused her ransom. When a party had finally raided the Hueco Mundo, they had taken Hitsugaya, not her.

Rukia's eyes had revealed that much, in a moment of fluttering confusion. But that soon passed. She glared at Renji over his clenched fist. "Put me down," she hissed.

Numb, he lowered her, then stepped back. She turned back to the soutaichou. "We are straying from the point, Yamamoto," she said, her voice low and dangerous.

The commander nodded. "Calm yourselves," he ordered, glaring directly at Captain Kuchiki, "I will answer your questions later. For now, remember that we are engaged in negotiations with the enemy."

Byakuya lowered his eyes, and his fists clenched on his knees. He said nothing.

Yamamoto turned back to the emissary before him. "We will not hand Hitsugaya-taichou back to the Hueco Mundo," the old man rasped. "We were unaware, until recently, of the nature of his confinement." Rukia snorted ungraciously. Yamamoto raised one bushy eyebrow. "Do _you_ know the nature of his confinement, Kuckiki-san?" he asked. There was an edge in his gravelly voice that few had heard before.

"Our people have been in Captain Kurotshuchi's tender care," Rukia retorted. "I don't think you have room to throw stones."

"The prisoners in the 12th Division are kept sedated," the commander answered gravely, "and fed. And you have not answered my question. Were you aware of what they did to him?"

Rukia the arrancar drew herself up, contempt in her fine features. "We Espada had a contest," she said levelly, "to see who could make the brat beg for mercy first."

Ichigo made an indistinct noise in his throat. Rukia turned to him. Blackness had begun to fill the whites of her eyes. "Don't you want to know who won?" she smiled mockingly.

Behind them, Hitsugaya gave a small cry. He started to thrash against Matsumoto's hold, trying desperately to free himself. Only when Unohana touched his temples did the boy stop. He retreated, trembling wildly, into his lieutenant's embrace. Matsumoto, only a few inches taller than her captain, buried her face in his white hair. Too devastated to think clearly, she clung to him as if to her last hope in life.

Rukia watched Hitsugaya impassively. "Did you know," she asked, "that there are pits in the Seireitei, pits almost thirty meters deep. Hollows were kept in those pits, for years, forced to fight rouge shinigami to the death. How is what we have done to him," she indicated Hitsugaya with a gesture, "different from what you have done to us?"

"Those were _hollows_," Renji spluttered, gripping his bright red hair, "how can you.."

"Mmm," Rukia interrupted him. Her fingers traced the hole in her chest. "Hollows. Monsters, right? Animals. Just like me." Her eyes narrowed. "Just like him." Hitsugaya snarled at her, and his fingers tightened on Matsumoto's arms.

Commander Yamamoto cut in. His voice sounded weary. "Those pits have been empty for a thousand years," he sighed.

Rukia looked sideways at the old man. "Yasutora Sado had a saying," she said quietly. " 'The mills of God grind slowly, slowly.' " Her voice dropped to a whisper. " 'The mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceedingly small.' "

Ichigo head snapped up. "Chad??" he exclaimed, his voice breaking. "He _had_ a saying? Is he… What are you.." He swallowed, and pulled his arm across his eyes. "What about Inoue?" he managed at last.

"You should ask little dragon-chan," Rukia said softly, still looking at Hitsugaya. "Oh," she breathed, "you don't talk anymore, do you, Shirou?" Her black eyes bore into his, an ugly expression on her face. "How convenient."

Hitsugaya stared back at her as if paralyzed, his green eyes wide.

"Enough of this," Yamamoto snapped. He rose imperiously, and rapped his cane against the stone floor. "We must deliberate. The ambassador of the Hueco Mundo will retire, for now." He clapped his hands, and five huge shinigami materialized by the door. "These men will escort you to your accommodations."

"To my cell, you mean," Rukia scoffed. "Don't forget, I have extensive experience with Seireitei's accommodations."

"Call it what you will."

Kuchiki Rukia turned slowly, looking at each of her former colleagues in turn. Then she bowed, very slightly, and walked out of the hall. She moved with the grace that she had always possessed, and she left calamity behind her.

TBC

_Let me know if it's confusing. Next chapter they'll have it out with Yamamoto. He's another one of my favorite characters, by the way. Shades of Jean Anhouil's King Creon. (How's THAT for an obscure reference?)_

_Before I get flamed (not that I mind) I should say up front that I really like Kuchiki Rukia. She comes across as … not so likable here. I've tried to make her as in-character as possible. But I've put her through a very OOC-making experience. I won't promise redemption, but I do promise explanation. I even shoved a little into this chapter, though, of course, there's always more._

_One of the things I like about Bleach is that Kubo Tite leaves the good guy/bad guy line fairly ambiguous. Soul Society has done some pretty reprehensible things, in the name of the greater good. I also think that there are times that you have to choose a side, but I think it's not always an easy choice. Rukia has a lot of really legitimate gripes with the Seireitei._

_OK, no more pointless author notes! You can make up your mind for yourself. Thanks again for reviews!_


	4. Chapter 4

_OK, sorry for the delay. Real life intervened, and then this just kept getting more complicated? Thank you for the wonderful reviews!! _

_Warnings: if you've read this far, you shouldn't be surprised by anything._

_Not mine._

Chapter 4

Abyss

_"You need to eat, Kuchiki-san."_

_By Hueco Mundo standards, the room was quite pleasant. A single window, set high in the blank white wall, allowed white light to pour into the great space. It was smaller than most chambers of the palace, and emptier – only one white couch stood in the middle of the room. But somehow Rukia felt at home there. Safe. She sat cross-legged on the floor, trying to meditate. Behind her on the couch, Inoue Orihime lay on her stomach, her feet dangling in the air. _

_Rukia sighed. "I'll eat later," she said, "Hunger will help me stay in control."_

_Inoue sat up, folding her slender legs beneath her. "Ano. . . " _

_Rukia's eyebrow twitched in annoyance. "Just come out and say it, Orihime," she snapped. "I'm deluding myself. I'm not a shinigami anymore. I should just accept ... " she broke off, not trusting her voice any further. This is ridiculous, she scolded herself. She could hold together, usually, with Aizen-sa. . . with Aizen and the others. It was only when she was alone with Inoue that she melted down._

_"I wasn't going to say that," Inoue said, looking away and scratching one ear. "I just... I don't think you're right. Hunger is emptiness, you know. I think it feeds the hollow side."_

_Emptiness. With one finger, Rukia traced the hole in her chest, a gesture that had become an unconscious habit in the last few months. _

_When she had first touched the Hougyoku,_ _she had expected ... she didn't know what she had expected. To lose her mind, to lose her soul. Instead she had lost something else, something she couldn't identify. What was it? There was no memory loss – she knew who she was and where she had come from. She remembered her friends, though she couldn't let herself think about them too much. _

_But something was missing. She didn't know what, but its absence tormented her. Wild gusts of fury would bubble up from the void, waves of anger and hatred and despair. Rukia fought, day in and day out, to keep that blackness in check. _

_She smiled up at Inoue's concerned face. "I think I will take a little something," she said faintly._

_The young woman clapped her hands and bounced. The next instant Rukia was holding a bowl of steaming ramen, topped with unidentifiable lumps of – Rukia chewed cautiously – meat? _

_"Hot Dogs!" Inoue crowed, then waved her hands frantically as Rukia gagged. "No, no, not dog! It's just called that! One of the arrancar that I healed last month brought it back for me. It's pretty tasty! It kinda reminds me of naruto, only not quite so chewy, and not nearly as pretty either, and I really prefer ramen with some eggs and mustard sauce, but that I _could not_ get so?quot;_

_While her friend prattled happily on, Rukia dug in. It was ... interesting, but actually not bad. Of course, this place hadn't exactly refined her culinary tastes._

_"... and WHY does Robin in that Teen Titans show sleep in his uniform, do you think? I mean, mask and all!" Inoue took a deep breath. Her hands held her bare feet as she sat on the couch, humming to herself. Despite her determined cheerfulness, though, Orihime looked worn and tired. Her golden hair hung limp around her face, and her shoulders sagged a little. Six months of captivity will beat down the most buoyant soul._

_"Inoue," Rukia asked suddenly, looking up from her meal, "how do you know... about the emptiness?"_

_"Oh," the honey-brown eyes opened wide for a moment. "Well, I've just picked it up, here and there. From the others, you know." The other arrancar, Rukia thought grimly, lowering her eyes. "Just things that Ulquiorra or Grimmjaw say from time to time._

_"It's funny," the girl continued dreamily, her eyes lifting to the window above them, "I think they have a hard time of it too. Coming from the other side, I mean. All they knew before was the emptiness. When their masks break, they have to suppress all of these emotions for the first time. Little things ... gratitude, sympathy. Kindness." She giggled into one hand. "It kind of wigs them out."_

_Inoue looked down at Rukia, who was once again tracing the vacant place where her heart used to be. The dark head was bowed; Inoue didn't even know if she had been listening. "Kuchiki-san," she said, summoning up all the gaiety she could muster, "I don't think you're deluded." She smiled down into the great black eyes, suddenly rimmed with tears. "If anyone can hold on, Kuchiki-san, it's you. Kuchiki-san is strong."_

_"Thank you, Inoue," Rukia murmured, wiping her eyes with one sleeve. She reached up and pressed her friend's hand. What would I have become, she wondered, without Orihime? Better not to go there._

_She turned away and closed her eyes again, forcing herself to concentrate. I will stay strong, she decided. I will eat. I will bow and obey and let them think that I'm one of them. _

_That way, she thought, I'll be able to help Ichigo and the others when they come for me._

_oooooooooooooooooooooo_

"We LEFT her there!" Nothing will be accomplished by shouting, Ichigo told himself. He turned around, drew his sword and beat down on his chair, splintering it into pieces. Then he continued shouting.

When his store of curses was finally exhausted he calmed himself, willing himself to breathe. "No," he said through gritted teeth, "_You_ left her there." He turned to face Yamamoto. The hollow in his heart was screaming for release. "How did you know that they were alive?"

The question echoed around the room. Every face turned to Yamamoto, the high commander, the eldest of the community. He did not stir under their scrutiny, nor did he rush his answer. "Four years ago," he said finally, "I received a message from Aizen, offering to return both Kuchiki and Hitsugaya for a price. I refused."

"That's all?" Ichigo croaked, his eyes red-rimmed and furious. "What price could Aizen possibly have asked that we couldn't afford?"

He caught a glimpse of bright eyes behind the massive eyebrows, a glint that vanished as quickly as it appeared. "He asked for you, Kurosaki-taichou."

"ME?!" Ichigo looked wildly around at the other captains, whose faces mirrored his astonishment. Then he turned back to the commander, his hands shaking on the handle of his zanpakutou. "I would have gone! You know I would have!"

"Of course." Yamamoto rubbed his eyes with long, knobbly fingers. "That is why I did not tell you."

The air around Kurosaki Ichigo's body began to waver slightly, as his reiatsu churned against his self-control. "You . . ." he snarled, inarticulate with rage. Then he heard a light snap, beside him. Renji had pulled Zabimaru from its sheath. The redhead stepped towards Yamamoto, his eyes dark under tattooed brows.

"No!" For the first time, Matsumoto released Hitsugaya and threw herself forward. She grabbed at Renji's arm, trying to restrain him, but he pulled away. Desperate, she drew Haineko and moved in front of him. "Don't, Renji," she pleaded, panting slightly. "This won't accomplish anything!"

"Get out of my way, Rangiku," he said quietly, not looking at her, "or I'll go through you."

Matsumoto glared at him, tears starting to her eyes. Stubborn bastard. She shifted her stance and grasped her zanpakutou with both hands. She knew how he felt about Rukia, of course. They had comforted each other, after the Hueco Mundo raid; they had drowned their grief in each other.

It didn't matter. He was _hers_, now. She wasn't about to let him fight here -- the commander was too strong.

"Come now, children," Yamamoto chided gently, a deadly edge to his voice. "Do you really want to play this game?"

Before they could answer, the old man seemed to vanish behind a giant blur. Kommamura's huge body, larger than life and armored to the back teeth, had materialized in front of him. "Put away your weapons," the giant growled. "This is treason."

The next instant the hall shook as Kommamura skidded sideways and crashed to the ground. Renji and Ichigo looked at each other, each thinking that the other had acted. Then they noticed the pink wave that flowed like water over the floor, spilling from Kuchiki Byakuya's chair. The Captain of the 6th had not spoken all evening, nor did he now. He sat, bolt upright, expressionless, as his tiny, deadly slivers engulfed the fox-captain.

Kommamura scrambled to his feet and shook himself like a dog, scattering sakura blades all through the room. Then with an eerie bay, he jumped towards Captain Kuchiki. No one saw Byakuya rise or draw his sword, but everyone heard the clash of steel on steel that followed.

"Stop this, all of you!" Unohana cried, aghast. She looked up at Zaraki, pleadingly. "Do something!"

Zaraki blinked at her, honestly at a loss. He was all for a melee, generally speaking. Problem was, he didn't know what side to fight on ... the geezer'd be a treat, but he had two on him already, and as for fancy-pants and dog-breath...

"Take Kuchiki-taichou," Unohana snapped at him. "Hisagi-taichou, Kira-taichou," she ordered, turning to the newest and most petrified captains, "try to restrain Kommamura-taichou, if you please." As they scrambled to obey her, she glanced towards the two senior captains, wondering what they would do. She found herself wishing that Soi Fong were still among them. Though the ninja woman could be ruthless, she was, at least, predictable. From his corner, Kurotshuchi giggled madly.

Ukitake closed his eyes. He could feel his lungs fill with bile, and he knew he wouldn't be able to stand on his feet much longer. "Shunsui," he said faintly, clutching at his haori. "We should calm down Ichigo and Renji. They're going to do something desperate. And they might be strong enough to hurt Yama-jii, by now."

Kyouraku leaned back in his chair, tilting his flowery hat over his eyes. "You know what?" he murmured, folding his hands behind his head. "I don't much care."

ooooooooooooo

_The arrancar twisted and howled, his long spiky frame shaking with pain. "Calm down, please!" Orihime chirruped. She cupped her hands over the wounded leg, covering it with a glowing field. Within a few seconds the arrancar had stopped yelling, and was watching the procedure through slit eyes. _

_"Not bad," he said when she had finished. He fingered his shin-bone, which had so recently been fractured in five places. _

_"Got yourself a little beat down there, Vierro," Rukia smirked. She was leaning against the far wall, watching the operation. "What happened to all that big talk?"_

_Vierro scowled. "Trust me," he curled one lip, "the dragon-whelp got worse than I did."_

_The two women froze and looked at each other. Aizen would not let Rukia know where Hitsugaya was being held -- the one piece of information, it seemed, that he did not trust her with. But they had both heard blood-chilling stories. "Where..." Rukia began._

_"Oh no," Vierro pushed himself off the couch, cheerful again. His broad sadistic smile had returned. "Not allowed to tell you that, you know. Can't have you trying to comfort the enemy. Heh," he strode towards the door, not even nodding his thanks to Inoue, "can't wait till it's your turn, Kuchiki."_

_Rukia slid down the wall, clasping her hands together. "How can you do it, Inoue?" she asked. "How can you heal them like that?"_

_Orihime looked down at her hands. "I don't know..." she whispered. "I know that they're bad. Mostly, anyway. But, when I see them bleeding and hurt -- I don't know how not to help them."_

_Rukia tried not to think about Hitsugaya, and she hated herself for it. She should look for him again. On bad days, they could hear him screaming even from their chamber. The weird echoes of the palace were too hard to follow -- the one time she tried; she'd been caught and punished. But maybe if... On the other hand, what was she going to do, if she found him? Feed him? Put him out of his... No. She shook her head and willed the darkness to recede. Don't think about it._

_She sighed. "Maybe they're not bad," she said, bitterly. "Maybe there is no bad. The Seireitei brainwashes us, makes us see the world as black and white. Maybe there are only shades of grey."_

_Inoue stood and walked over to her, knelt, then hugged Rukia tight. "There's good," she said, "and there's evil. There must be, I think. After all, if there was no black and no white, there'd be no grey, either."_

_She smiled in her way, half ditzy and half sad. "We just get them so muddled, is all."_

ooooooooooooo

Ichigo advanced towards the general, Zangetsu raised. Truth be told, he didn't have any idea what he was planning to do. It didn't really matter, though. Yamamoto had sidestepped his attack before he had even launched it.

"You are slow, Kurosaki," the old man rasped, dodging Ichigo's next swing. "I am disappointed." Ichigo feinted up and thrust forward, only to find Yamamoto behind him.

"What is the first lesson of the blade?" Yamamoto asked, sounding for all the world like a sensei in the dojo. "You must throw away fear."

Ichigo snarled at him. "I'm not afraid." He swung Zangetsu in a broad circle, releasing the hilt and taking hold of the long scarf. "I'm angry."

"Ah," Yamamoto ducked the blow. "Then you do not understand." Stepping forward into the wake of Ichigo's strike, he caught the young man's wrist. For a second they locked eyes, close enough to feel each other's breath. "Anger is just another kind of fear."

It honestly caught the old man by surprise when Ichigo dropped. He realized too late -- Yamamoto had stopped the hand but not the sword. With his fingers, Ichigo had flipped his blade by its sash in an arc behind himself, slashing over his own head to attack the general. Yamamoto barely skipped back in time, and he felt the tip of the black katana scratch the bridge of his nose as he did so.

The soutaichou raised one hand to the cut. "Much better," he said, examining the blood on his fingers. "I suppose I will have to get a little serious." He grasped his cane and tried to shift his stance. "Ashes to ash..."

His feet would not move.

Nor would anyone else's. Ichigo stumbled forward but could not fall -- he was encased in ice up to his ankles. Renji and Rangiku, who had been fighting at the foot of the dais, found themselves stuck to the floor, just out of sword range from each other. The five-man brawl was completely immobilized -- the sheet of ice wrapped them to their armpits. Zaraki, who had fallen to the ground, was covered entirely; only his hair spikes protruded.

"Hitsugaya-kun," Yamamoto growled, "Release me immediately."

Hitsugaya was on one knee in the center of the hall, both palms pressed against the floor. His breath was coming in little ragged gasps. Yamamoto noted, dispassionately, that the ice on the floor had already begun to melt. Not at full strength yet, the general thought. In the old days, nothing but Ryuujin Jakka or a month of sunshine would have cleared away Hitsugaya's ice.

The young man stood, his white hair gleaming in the twilight. He looked tired, but somehow more awake, as if the shock had forced his mind to the surface. "This is her mission," he said into the sudden silence.

It was the most anyone had heard him say since he had returned. Unohana, whose feet had_ not_ been frozen, moved towards him with concern in her eyes.

"Brat's got a point," Zaraki growled, shouldering his way out of his ice cocoon. "Aizen ain't fussed about any prisoners. Just wants to watch us fight each other." He sighed as Byakuya recalled the scattered petals into Zenbonzakura. Oh well, he thought. It was fun while it lasted.

"Aizen's not the problem here," Ichigo still glowered at Yamamoto, black fames licking the corners of his eyes.

"Ichigo," Histugaya murmured. His voice faded. Exhausted, he bent over and rested his hands on his knees. Unohana stood beside him, unspeaking, one hand barely touching his shoulder. Without Hyourinmaru, she would not have thought such a technique to be possible.

"Ichigo," the boy repeated, looking up at the orange-haired shinigami, "He was right."

For a moment the others could only stare at him, dumbstruck. "Right?" Ichigo protested. "He left you to... How can you say ..." 

The bright green eyes bore into his, no longer confused, even a little defiant. It took a few seconds for Histugaya to find the words, but they were devastating. "I chose my prison," he whispered.

No one knew how to answer this. Yamamoto walked creakily back to his high chair, suddenly elderly again. "Rukia and Toushirou were soldiers," he rasped, settling himself in. "They were lost in battle and I honored them for it, though it was against my orders. Should I have undone their sacrifice, and traded a human child to retrieve them? You were barely seventeen at the time."

Ichigo's fingers flexed on Zangetsu's hilt. "Don't give me that bull$#!+" he spat. "I suppose it didn't matter that I'm stronger than the rest of your #$&# captains!?! That you_ need _me for your damned war?!!"

"Of course it mattered!" Yamamoto snapped. He turned to Ichigo, his red eyes wide open, and Ichigo took an involuntary step backwards. "How many times have you saved your home town these last four years? How many human and shinigami owe their lives to you?" His voice dropped to a low snarl. "I have half the army in the real world now -- before the morning they will have pulled at least three hundred thousand souls, alive, out of Karakura. There is only one reason that is possible. Because I did not let you dance to Aizen's sick little tune!"

"Not your call to make," Ichigo said through grit teeth.

"I am the Commander of the Gotei 13."

Ichigo could only shake his head, speechless.

In the stillness, Unohana stepped forward. "Yamamoto-dono," she said quietly, "is it true that arrancar prisoners are being experimented on in Division 12?"

Yamamoto grunted. "I cannot imagine that this should surprise you. What do you think we would do with them?"

"I would think that we could have traded them for our thirty-two lost soldiers," the woman said pleasantly. "Or are we ... how did you put it ... 'honoring their sacrifice' as well?"

Mayuri spoke for the first time, wringing his hands. He sounded genuinely concerned. "I think I should point out, perhaps we are losing perspective – time of war, you know .. those experiments have greatly advanced our understanding ... Vital to the development of weapons, vital, oh yes, very ... not possible to withstand the siege without ..."

Unohana did not spare him a glance. "These things are evil, Commander."

Yamamoto lowered his ancient head. "These things are necessary, Captain. For the greater good."

"Do you even hear yourself?" Renji cried. Even though his feet had been freed, he had hardly moved. "How are you any different from Tousen? Or even Aizen?"

This time, Yamamoto had no reply.

"This will not do," Unohana said at long last. "As Zaraki-taichou has pointed out, we are playing into the enemy's hands. Let me appeal to the senior captains," her eyes raked Ukitake and Kyouraku, "to arrest Kurosaki-taichou and Abarai-taichou. Until they have calmed themselves."

Kyouraku shrugged but stood, walked over to Renji, and put one hand on his shoulder. Ukitake did the same with Ichigo. "Fine," Ichigo muttered, putting Zangetsu on his back.

"Renji," Matsumoto pleaded, putting one hand to her lover's face. He shook her off and turned away. "Let's go," he growled at Kyouraku. An instant later, they had disappeared.

Unohana put her hand in Hitsugaya's white hair. She had to get back to her quarters, she thought, before she broke down in front of everybody. "Thank you, Hitsugaya-taichou," she said, "for putting an end to that chaos."

He looked up at her, his eyes overbright. He didn't say anything and didn't need to. Understanding passed between the two like a kind of natural telepathy. The chaos, they knew, was just beginning.

TBC

_Whew. That was kind of a marathon. I am tired. _

_Once again, any and all criticism welcome! I'm also a little curious whether people agree with Ichigo, or with Yamamoto. If I've done this right, it shouldn't be that easy to choose. No wimping out, though! The thing that sucks about being in charge is, you have to decide one way or the other._


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you for reviews! They are fascinating. I love it when people have actual opinions about what's going on!_

_Another quiet chapter -- lotsa introspection and such. Once again, I beg your patience -- violence is being brewed out back._

_Oh! And obi means belt._

_Not mine._

Chapter 5

Glimmer

"Ken-chan!"

Almost immediately after the meeting broke up (she saw Strawberry and Monkey-chan and Whitey and Pinky leave), Yachiru rocketed into the room. It had been boring playing by herself, and these days she tended to cling pretty closely to her guardian. She had already jumped on his shoulders and seized two of his hair spikes before she took stock of the situation. It was, she thought, kinda tense in here.

Kurotchiki was the only one still sitting, his black fingers fidgeting endlessly. Matsumoto looked stricken. Hisagi and Kira were helping Byakuya and Kommamura to their feet. Supporting the two injured Captains (Kira staggered under Kommamura's weight), the juniors bowed, and made their way out to the fourth division headquarters.

Unohana remained standing in the middle of the room, her hands on Hitsugaya's shoulders, her eyes never leaving the general's. "Be careful, Yamamoto-soutaichou," she said quietly. "The heart is like a mirror. We take the form of that which we examine too closely."

"Do not preach to me, Unohana," the old man snapped, looking tired and angry at the same time. "I don't need my subordinates questioning my decisions. This is war," his ancient brows came together, "and war is nothing but a justified means to an end. If the end is not victory, no action -- not even self-defense -- can be justified."

The medical shinigami raised one eyebrow. "In other words, the only thing more evil than waging a war," she inquired, "is losing one?"

"Precisely."

Unohana shook her head. "I am not speaking of a lost war," she said gravely, "but of a lost soul. There are lines that cannot be crossed safely, even with the best intentions. If you lie down with monsters, Commander, you will become one."

"Are you speaking of me, madam?" Kurotchiki's white face turned uglier than usual. "I, a monster? I???" he was almost screaming, spittle flying from his black lips. "I have saved more lives than you have, healer!"

Without warning, Hitsugaya pushed himself free of Unohana, brushing her hand aside. His face was pale. "We're all monsters," he said shortly. Without another word or glance, he walked out of the great hall. Matsumoto, exchanging a worried glance with Unohana, followed after him.

oooooooooooooooooo

"Yah!" said Yachiru, jumping to the floor and sticking out her tongue at Hitsugaya's retreating figure. "You gonna let dumb-butt call you names, Ken-chan?"

Zaraki looked down at his surrogate daughter, seeming to come out of some personal trance. "You understand what Unohana's sayin', Yachiru?"

"Sure! Scary-guy's creepy, and Aizen's creepy, and even Gramps is kinda creepy. And Snowball's dumb," she added for good measure. "But I knew all that already. It don't really matter, does it?" She gazed up at Zaraki, astonished by his unusual melancholy. "You an' me, we ain't creepy. And we're gonna keep fighting, cuz it's fun, and we'll win, cuz we're the good guys! Right?"

Zaraki stared for a while at the marble tiling, strangely unwilling to meet either Unohana's or Yachiru's eyes. His zanpukuto sang a mournful half-tune in the back of his mind. He thought of all the men he'd killed, whose names he hadn't bothered to remember. Men he'd attacked just because they'd looked strong. Corpses he'd walked away from, saying, damn, what a waste of #&$ time. Souls who had, for unfathomable reasons, wanted to live more than they'd wanted to fight.

This wasn't like him. This was pansy double-thinking. He shook his head to clear the weakness away. But Yachiru was still tugging at his sleeve, concern on her little face. "Right, Ken-chan? Right? Right?"

Unable to find an answer for her, Zaraki did what parents have done from the dawn of time. He lied. "Yeah, 'Chiru," he said heavily, "We're the good guys."

oooooooooooooooooo

_"Inoue!" Rukia burst into the white cell, out of breath. "I think I've found ..." She stopped, unnerved. Inoue wasn't there. _

_It had been a year, and she had always been there. Unlike the arrancar, Inoue was not allowed freedom of movement in the Hueco Mundo. She stayed in her room. She healed those who were brought to her. And yet the chamber was empty, except for a single white couch, a ray of white light, and Inoue's lingering scent._

_Rukia turned cold. She had gone looking for Hitsugaya today. How likely was it that they would take Inoue on that same day? Did they know? What had they done to her? Oh God, would it all be my fault... _

_Why would they take Inoue? She wondered, horrified. They needed her. Though -- Rukia shuddered -- Inoue had always steadfastly refused to do anything for Aizen except heal his soldiers. They had those horrible arrancar healers now. _

_Breathe, Rukia told herself. Be calm. Maybe Inoue's escaped. The girl was much smarter and more capable than most people realized. Maybe she had found a way to ... No, that couldn't be it. Inoue would never leave her behind._

_She sank onto the couch cushions. Her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest._

_  
"Is there a problem, Kuchiki-san?" a gentle voice spoke behind her. _

_Her head snapped around, electric current sparking up her spine. "A...Aizen...Aizen-sama," she stuttered. The overlord of the Hueco Mundo stood against the far wall, just underneath the window. His face was as kindly, and as terrifying, as always. Rukia wondered how long he had been there, or if he were really there now. With a master of illusions, there was no way to know._

_Once recovered from her shock, however, Rukia's worry overwhelmed her fear. "Where's Inoue?" she asked, standing. "...sir."_

_Aizen simply looked at her, his smile fixed. He held a scroll in one hand, which he played with for a while, turning it over and over in his fingers. Then he tucked it into his wide sash._

_"Walk with me a moment, Kuchiki-san" he said._

oooooooooooooooooo

"You're dismissed, soldier."

The guard on prison duty opened his mouth to object, but quickly closed it again. This was a captain, after all. Hastily, the young shinigami shoved the keys forward, bowed deep, and took his leave.

Within the dark cell, the prisoner sat in a slender chair, back turned from the entryway. She did not turn at the newcomer's entry. Instead her eyes turned up to a large round window above her, which was crisscrossed with the same elegant geometric lines as the back of her chair. Moonlight spilled in through that window, creating a puddle of brightness around the still figure. "Well," she said, "this is nostalgic."

Renji approached the cell. "Yo," he said gruffly. He tucked the key into his obi and wondered, again, what he was doing here. What did he hope to achieve? Ichigo, he guessed, was still listening to one of Ukitake's lectures. As for himself, Kyouraku had released him almost as soon as they were out of the Commander's sight. He had come straight here.

"Did you want something, Abarai-_taichou_?" Rukia asked, looking over her shoulder. Her voice was playful, and he knew the game.

"You got a problem with me being a taichou?"

She smiled at her old friend. His heart wasn't really in it, she decided. "You have funny eyebrows, taichou," she teased. "What kind of freak tattoos his eyebrows?"

Renji couldn't answer without betraying any emotion, so he didn't try. Instead he leaned one the wall facing her cell, arms crossed, one leg propped up against it. The cell before him was a study in clear lines and stark contrasts. Rukia's black hair gleaming in the moonlight. The hole in her chest against her spotless white robes. Her shadow cast on the cold marble floor. All the same, the scene blurred a little in Renji's vision. He lifted a hand to wipe his eyes, grateful for the cover of darkness.

"Ne, Renji," Rukia said suddenly, "how old were you when you died?"

Caught off balance by the question, the shinigami lowered his leg and stared. "I dunno," he said, awkwardly. "Two or three, I suppose. I don't remember."

Rukia turned towards him. He could see the bracelet around her right wrist, a handcuff to hold back her spiritual power. "What do you think you did?"

"... what?"

"What crime did you commit," she asked steadily, "in your two years of life, that you deserved to be sent to district 78?"

She rested one hand on the back of the chair, and gazed at him. Even hidden in the shadow, Renji felt as if she could see into his soul. "I was abandoned by my sister," she continued, relentless. "That's no one's fault but hers. You, on the other hand... Soul Society just dumped you, alone, in one of the worst districts of the Rukongai. You remember, Renji? Scavenging for food, stealing water. Beaten half to death by thugs whenever they could catch you."

Renji had in fact made every effort, over the years, to forget all that. "What's your point?" he growled.

She lifted one short eyebrow. "You never resented it? The fact that shinigami are so busy murdering hollows, they don't pay any attention to the human souls entrusted to their care. They can't be bothered with kindness, or even with justice." Her hand gripped the chair, hard. "Soul Society was responsible for you and me ... and for all of our friends."

A brief vision of children's gravestones crossed Renji's mind, and he looked away. "I suppose Aizen will do better?" he asked, a bad taste in his mouth.

"He could hardly do worse."

This time the redhead was able to summon his characteristic anger. Pushing off against the wall, he kicked the bars hard, making an ugly clang. "I would rather be a stray dog," he snarled, "than a hollow."

"Oh, come on." She gave a crooked half-smile. "It's not _that_ bad."

Calming himself as well as he could, the shinigami captain shoved his hands into his obi. He was from the streets. He could be tough. "I haven't come here to discuss politics," he said curtly, "or to listen to Hueco Mundo propaganda."

"Ah!" Rukia clapped her hands in front of her chest, mockingly. "A social visit! A chance to gossip and catch up!" She sat backwards on the chair, propped her elbows on the back, and cupped her face in her hands. "So... you and Matsumoto, huh? Wouldn't have seen that coming."

He ignored her. Frantically, he groped for some legitimate reason to be here, to have dismissed the jailer, to be talking to her alone. "Tell me about the others," he said finally. He didn't have to say who 'the others' were.

Rukia regarded him for a long time, thoughtfully. Then she pulled one leg around so that she was sitting sideways, her hands gripping the seat on either side of her body. Her voice became low and steady again. "Chad died as you saw him die. There was no illusion."

Renji felt an unexpected wave of relief wash over him. He didn't know what to do with the emotion, so he said nothing. Rukia seemed to understand. "He fell protecting his friends," she said, "as he would have wanted. Chad was a rarity -- a genuinely good person."

He was that, Renji thought. He hadn't known Yasutora well -- the guy hardly ever spoke -- but they had trained together for weeks under Urahara's shoten. Fighting a person almost inevitably reveals a part of their character. Chad had felt no resentment in losing, or pride in winning. He had taken no joy in the game. He had simply wanted to get stronger so that he could help the people he loved. Renji wondered, fleetingly, what Chad had thought of him. Then he turned his attention back to the cell.

"If you had asked me yesterday to list the truly good people I've known," he said sadly, "I would have told you about an old childhood friend of mine."

She did not answer him. Renji put one hand around a bar and bowed his head, steeling himself. "I might also have mentioned this dumb kid we met once. Inoue Orihime."

Rukia stood. She stepped out of the pool of moonlight and moved a few steps closer to the bars. Her voice was dreamy and distant, almost as if she had not heard him. "Do you know what Hitsugaya's purpose was, in the Hueco Mundo? Do you know why they used him? He was almost powerless, after all."

Renji leaned closer, trying to read her expression in the shadows. He didn't like where this was going. "Zaraki has a theory," he said slowly. "He thinks Hitsugaya could only beat those who hesitated. They," he swallowed, "... you ... were under orders not to kill him. Anyone who was too afraid of Aizen to fight full-tilt ..."

" ... would be killed." Rukia finished the sentence for him. "Yes, he's quite right."

Her voice dropped. "But there are lots of reasons to hesitate. An arrancar has feelings, you know. Emotions. For the hollow-born, those emotions are unfamiliar and frightening -- human weaknesses that they will go to any lengths to hide. All the same, some arrancar will hold back when fighting a helpless little soul like Hitsu-chan. Out of compassion. Out of _pity_."

His forehead pressed against the bars, Renji felt his stomach do a slow, nauseated turn. "So Aizen used him to ... weed out the soft ones?"

"Those who hesitated out of kindness still hesitated, and Hitsugaya still killed them."

Rukia approached and laid her left hand on Renji's clenched fist. "I don't think you recognize the dragon's true strength," she said softly. "That which allowed him -- which _forced_ him to survive, when every moment he must have longed for death. It is the fact that, deep down, he is absolutely and utterly ruthless."

Renji took several long, controlled breaths. "What does this have to do with Inoue?" he asked finally, dreading the answer.

"Well, you know her," Rukia looked away. "She was kind. And she hesitated."

A long moment passed. With her head turned, the moonlight caught Rukia's face again. Her eyes held a depth of rage and bitterness that Renji had never seen before.

"I don't believe you," he whispered.

Rukia laughed at that, a sad good-natured chuckle that sounded more like her old self. "Ah, Renji," she sighed. "You're as sentimental as ever."

With that she lifted her right hand. Too late, Renji realized that the lock on her restraint had been broken or picked. Nothing was holding back her reiatsu. Block, he told himself stupidly. Protect yourself. But no incantation would form in his dazed mind; his arms wouldn't move. Before he could even push himself back, a white flash filled the prison chamber, and he crumpled senseless to the ground.

Rukia put one hand to a hip and sighed. "And you_ still_ suck at kidou," she murmured.

ooooooooooooooooooo

_So, yes, a little slow. I was going for tense :) _


	6. Chapter 6

_Believe it or not, I had meant this to be a five chapter deal, like the last one. It's gotten out of hand, and I'm just now getting to the real story. _

_This chapter, also, has gotten out of hand. It's waaaay long. I just couldn't figure out a way to break it up. It is also, just possibly, a wee bit on the melodramatic side. Sorry. Couldn't help it. This is how it played out in my head._

_Also, for you sensitive souls ... there is death in this one. I don't know quite how to put this ... if these things bother you too much, or, well, if these things don't bother you AT ALL, I encourage you to look away. Just don't read the italic bits. Next chapter will still make sense._

_Not mine._

* * *

Chapter 6

Dust

_He circled around, noiselessly. His body hurt everywhere -- it was all he could do to put one foot in front of another. Surely it had only been a few hours since the last one. Surely... maybe it was longer. It might have been days, it had felt like ... He couldn't ..._

_Hitsugaya shook his head, trying to think clearly. He couldn't let himself drift again, not now. Now he had to fight._

_The arrancar stood quietly in the middle of the street, its hands folded before it. It wore a vast, billowing white robe. The mask covered all of its eyes, nose and hair -- only its lips were visible. It made no aggressive moves; it did not bellow or threaten. The dark eye sockets stared straight ahead, not even making any effort to look for him. Hitsugaya's fist closed around the katana. The quiet ones were the worst._

_He looked down at his hand, surprised. He had a weapon. How... ?? Oh. That last one... pinned ... must have passed out..._

_It didn't matter. He crouched in the shadows, his green eyes suddenly entirely focused on his enemy. On his prey. If they were going to leave him sharp things, he was going to use them._

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hitsugaya Toushirou sat on the edge of Soukyoku hill, his thin knees pulled up to his chest. Behind him and a little to the side, Matsumoto knelt. It was obvious that the young man was deeply upset; his lieutenant could feel his reiatsu fluctuate and tremble, as if with suppressed pain. She wanted to talk to him, to comfort him. But she had no idea what to say, and she held her peace.

They could see the Seireitei ranged all around them, a carpet of glittering lights. One could barely make out the Rukongai from here as well. To the west lay the richer regions -- in that direction the city seemed to fade into the quiet glow of hearthfires and torches. To the east, the brightness stopped in a sharp circular line, bordered by total blackness.

Matsumoto looked up from her brooding captain. To their left rose the white Senzaikuu -- the tower of repentance -- huge and empty and strangely sad. "Repent," Matsumoto said under her breath, looking up at its dark windows, "and you shall be saved." She couldn't remember where she had read that. Surely, she thought, it can't be that easy.

She shuddered. There always seemed to be a gale up here. And then she felt a slight coldness in her hair. She held out one hand experimentally. Sure enough, two raindrops pattered onto her fingertips.

Not for the first time, Matsumoto marveled at the ancient technology of the Seireitei. The city was surrounded, above and below, by an immensely strong barrier of death stone. No spiritual or physical being could touch that barrier without total annihilation. And yet the wind and rain passed through as if it were not there.

She lifted her head, letting the cool sprinkle fall on her face. Above them, the stars were disappearing rapidly, swallowed up by the eastern darkness.

"A storm?" she murmured. Without thinking, she turned again towards her captain.

Hitsugaya shrugged, his eyes fixed on the gathering clouds. "Not mine," he said. Of course, Matsumoto chided herself. He had lost his sword -- he couldn't control the weather any more. All the same, she heard the tension in his voice; she could see the tightness return to his shoulders. She felt it, too.

Something was horribly wrong.

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

_Rukia could barely breathe. They walked down echoing corridors, bare and dusty and endlessly monotonous. Aizen said nothing, his arms tucked into his sleeves, his smile never fading. She scurried after him, her mind racing. Turn after turn, past empty chambers, past closed doors. She felt lightheaded, and couldn't pay proper attention to where they were going. While Aizen seemed to move noiselessly, Rukia thought she could hear her footsteps, her breathing, her very heartbeat, caught and carried along the walls. _

_She stopped abruptly, and put her hand to her empty chest. Then she put two fingers to her left wrist. How ... she wondered, how do I still have a heartbeat?_

_"Ah," Aizen said, stopping a few feet in front of her. "I see you've noticed."_

_Utterly confused, Rukia made a querulous little noise. Aizen looked over his shoulder at her. "A shinigami, you see, draws power from the heart. A hollow's power comes from the heart's absence. From the emptiness."_

_"And an arrancar?" Rukia couldn't help but blurt out. Do I still have a heart? she wanted to cry. Are these just phantom emotions, the memory of severed feelings? Where--she choked back the words as she choked back the tears--was Inoue?_

_The warlord opened his hands, palm-upward. "That is a mystery," he said. "You have no physical heart, and yet you have a pulse. In the same way, an arrancar wields both the power of a shinigami and that of a hollow, which are opposite. Mutually exclusive. You possess the fullness and the emptiness, both completely, at the same time. If I understood that," he chuckled disarmingly, "I suspect that I would be unstoppable."_

_The small woman stared up at Aizen, her eyes narrowed. "Is that why you've made so many of us?" she asked slowly. "To figure out how it works?"_

_"Oh, no, no!" the former captain laughed, patting her on the head. She resisted the urge to pull away. "I've made so many of you so that we can crush Soul Society. And create a better world, right?"_

_"Of course, Aizen-sama," she murmured, dropping into a deep bow._

He sighed and turned away again. "Tell me, Kuchiki-san," he said pleasantly, "how much longer do you hope to fool me?"

_Still bent at the waist, Rukia froze, her bangs falling over her face. She did not dare raise her eyes. "I ... I don't know what you mean, Aizen-sama."_

_Stopping at a blank stretch of wall, Aizen gestured slightly. An opening appeared as if by magic. Red light and red dust spilled out into the corridor. A horrible stench followed it -- a smell of death and long illness. "I mean," he said patiently, "how much longer do you think you can hide your true self? Your continued allegiance to the Seireitei?"_

_Rukia stared at the swirling dust, and then turned, looking around. Strangely enough she felt entirely calm. She knew where she was, now -- she had passed this way earlier that day. "Yes," Aizen nodded his confirmation, "this is the dragon's lair. You heard the fight this morning, I take it? Arrancar 52. I'm afraid our Hitsu-chan lost rather badly."_

_Deliberately, Kuchiki Rukia pulled herself to her full height. There was no point in dissembling any longer. "I heard it," she said shortly. "52 is a bloody-minded, savage bastard who will one day spend all eternity in Hell. _

_"I also heard," she looked Aizen full in the eye, "that Hitsugaya-taichou has never given you the satisfaction of hearing him beg." Her chin came up defiantly. "Neither will I."_

_Aizen fingers cupped gently below her chin, his thump just brushing the line of her jaw. "I don't want you to beg, Kuchiki-san," he said. Rukia's brow creased, perplexed. He didn't sound mocking. He sounded ... normal. A little exasperated, maybe. "I want you to see the truth."_

_A crash and a small cry came from the red chamber beside Aizen -- he glanced inside. When she started forward, however, he placed his body in the way, holding up one hand to check her. "I sent a message to the Seireitei last week," he said, reaching into his sash and pulling out the scroll, "offering to free you and Hitsugaya." _

_Rukia felt an electric shock shoot up her spine, but she said nothing. Aizen continued. "This was their reply." He pressed it into her hands, his face grave. "I'm truly sorry."_

_Her heart in her mouth, Rukia opened the scroll and read it. It was short, to the point and very, very final. _

_There wasn't anything to say. Meticulously, she rolled up the scroll, diligently avoiding Aizen's eyes. It was true, after all. She had disobeyed orders. She had volunteered to stay. She couldn't expect ... Despite her best efforts, though, a great blackness seemed to spread before her vision. Her fingers felt numb._

_The overlord watched her, careful not to intrude upon her grief. Only when she straightened, wiped her eyes, and handed back the scroll did he speak. "The shinigami believe," he said quietly, "that they are better than us. They have always believed it. They have never bothered to see themselves for what they are. Bigoted. Self-serving. Arrogant."_

_Hold on, Rukia told herself. Be strong. "The laws of Soul Society," she whispered, falling back on old mantras, "exist for the good of human kind."_

_"The laws of Soul Society exist for the good of Soul Society," Aizen said roughly, for the first time showing what seemed like real emotion. "The shinigami speak prettily enough. But when push comes to shove, they will always act in their own interest. Always!"_

_"Not all of them," she said, trying, unsuccessfully, to blink back her tears. Not my nakama, she thought, as fiercely as she could manage. _

_"No?" Aizen's face softened and he reached for her. Without another word, he drew her into the doorway, into the stifling heat of the red room. The place was bigger than she had imagined. They looked down over what looked like a ruined city, magnificent in its desolation, terrifying in its silence. She almost choked on the dust, even though the long platform on which they stood must have been forty feet in the air. Another catwalk crossed the room, six feet below them, and another stretched ten or more feet above. Going from nowhere to nowhere, Rukia thought with a shudder._

_Aizen led her almost to center of the chamber, where all of the echoes converged. Echoes of tiny, indiscernible noises, magnified a thousand times over -- falling peddles, cracking stone, tiny scratching feet. Ragged breath. "Look over there," he said, pointing down to the far corner of the room. Squinting, Rukia caught a flash of white against a broken stone wall. Another figure, darker, huddled over it._

_"That is what a shinigami is," the overlord intoned, "stripped of his pretensions."_

_Rukia's eyes widened. Within a split second, she had vaulted from the platform, landed on catwalk below, and was running as fast as she could._

_Aizen smiled._

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

Rukia walked alone through the weird shadows of Division 12. Cylinders of luminescent liquid bubbled quietly on the shelves. Wheeled carts held nasty-looking instruments; desks were covered with mountains of untidy papers. Grey mannequins hung on bars against the walls, loose-limbed, covered with strange child-like symbols. The lab would look sinister in the daylight. Now, with dim moonlight streaming in from the narrow windows, filling the place with inky shadows, it looked diabolic.

She found what she was looking for eventually -- a small desk with an embedded computer console. Nothing distinguished it from eight or ten similar stations scattered through the room, except an almost imperceptible number scrawled on its base. Confirming that this was the right one, Rukia pulled a small gem-like cube from her robes. Carefully, she placed it in a fitted slot on the console. It began to glow, very faintly, from the bottom up.

"If you're looking for the prisoners," a gruff voice spoke from the doorway, "I think they're probably in the lower levels."

"I've already seen them," she answered, not looking up. "Like Yama-jii said, they're heavily drugged. Hardly there. Not exactly up for a mad-dash escape."

The shinigami stepped into the room. Backlit by the hall lights, his hair glowed like a spiky orange halo. "Rukia," he said, "you're not here on any rescue mission."

Unconsciously Rukia brushed out the wrinkles in her kimono and faced the newcomer. He looked a little taller, she thought. Not much, but a little. His frame had filled out, as well -- no longer a skinny teenager, but a grown man. " ... no, I guess I'm not." She paused, and then said playfully, "But you are, aren't you? Have you come to save me again?"

Ichigo scowled. "Damn you, Rukia," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Of course I have. You just have to make it difficult, don't you?"

"How did you find me, anyway?" she asked, weaving her way through the cluttered laboratory towards her old friend. "I had my spirit power really well controlled."

He looked away. "I wasn't tracking you by your shinigami side," he muttered.

"Ah," she stood only a few paces from him now, almost close enough to touch him. "So you can navigate the emptiness, as well?" She cocked her head at him, folding her hands behind her back. "You know that's dangerous. If you want to stay in control, that is."

Ichigo swallowed. How typical, Rukia thought -- he has no idea what to say. No plan at all. But still he rushes out to me, heart on his sleeve. Still a child after all. She stepped forward and put her hands on his chest, her eyes never leaving his. "Do you want to stay in control?" she murmured.

His large hands closed on her small ones, and he pushed them away. But he did not, she noticed, let them go. "What are you doing here?" he asked gruffly.

"Do you mean here in the Seireitei?" Rukia slipped her hands free. Backing away several steps, she lifted herself onto a desk, where she sat swinging her legs. "Or in Division 12?"

When he didn't answer, Rukia simply continued. "I'm here in this room," she said, waving around, "because this is the spiritual center of Soul Society. This is where the shinigami created mod souls, and this is where they destroyed them. This is where the shinigami tortured the souls of the Quincy," she picked up a slender tool beside her, something convoluted and sharp, "right after wiping them off the face of the earth. How's Ishida, by the way?"

Ichigo took the instrument from her hand. She looked up, surprised -- she hadn't seen him move. He _had _gotten better. "Ishida hasn't spoken to me," he said, carefully laying the instrument back on the tray, "since we lost you."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Ichigo grumbled, his head down. He always had been a terrible liar. "Dumbass."

Rukia took her friend's hand, and held it in her lap. "I'm here in Soul Society," she said, hesitating a little, "to talk to you."

She could not look him in the face as she continued. "You're right, of course. Aizen-sama has no interest in arrancar prisoners. He sent me with a proposal for you." He stiffened and almost pulled away, but Rukia clung to him with one hand, while she touched his face with the other.

"Join us, Ichigo," she said, staring into his startled brown eyes. "Aizen promises to protect your family, when Karakura falls. You can name your terms in the new order. You can protect whomever you want to. Ichigo," she pleaded, "you know it's the right thing to do."

The young man didn't answer. Tentatively, he reached out one hand, and brushed back a lock of black hair. All of these years, he'd missed Kuchiki Rukia. He'd hated himself for not trusting her, for letting her follow him, for not sending her back, for not protecting her. For not having told her, for not having touched her. All these years, he'd held her memory in his heart. Now he practically held her in his arms, and she was asking the impossible from him.

"Idiot," he said.

Rukia looked up at him, and he was startled to see tears in her eyes. "Why would you fight for Soul Society?" she demanded. "You _know_ they're corrupt! You fought against them, once, with all your heart."

"Don't give me that crap!" he snapped. Ichigo always had, she reflected, a certain crude clarity of vision. "They've done bad stuff, yeah. But there's no way you'll convince me that they're worse than the Hueco Mundo. I've been there, remember?"

The small woman glowered at him, tightening her grip on his hand and his neck. "Are you really going to throw your life away," she said through clenched teeth, "on the lesser of two evils?"

He glowered, his face turning stubborn. "I'll fix Soul Society," he said, "when I'm finished kicking Aizen's ass."

"There are always going to be monsters, Ichigo!"

Ichigo's chin came up, and his eyebrows knit together. He looked so like a caricature of his old self, Rukia almost laughed despite herself. It was if he was imitating Inoue imitating him. "Then I'll always fight them!" he yelled.

Then Rukia did laugh, though the sound was damp and brief. She let go of him. "You haven't changed at all," she sighed. "I'm glad."

There was a soft snap behind her. They both turned. The small cube she had placed on the computer monitor had turned bright red. "Ah," she said, smiling into Ichigo's horrified eyes, "finally."

Even with flash step, they barely made it out of the building before the explosion tore it down.

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

_The arrancar gave an involuntary cry as the archway collapsed about it. Then, as it staggered, a dark form materialized from behind, and drove a katana through its back. Hitsugaya pulled out the blade, and gave the arrancar a savage kick, sending it against the wall. Then he lifted its mask, intending to stab it through the eye._

_"No." The blade dropped from his nerveless fingers. _

_Inoue smiled up at him, wiping the blood from her lips with shaky fingers. "I'm sorry, Toushirou-kun," she murmured. "I just ..."_

_"Why ... why didn't you take off the mask?" he croaked, kneeling beside her and pressing his hands to her wound. His throat was utterly parched; it hurt like hell to talk. "God, Inoue ..." _

_Inoue must have known what he was thinking. She frowned a little. "It's not ... suicide, or anything" she whispered, sounding honestly embarrassed. Orihime didn't hurt people, not even herself. "I just didn't know... you might have anyway... I didn't want you to, you know, have to live with ..." She coughed, and sank a little lower, resting her cheek against his knees. "I just..."_

_"Shut up," Hitsugaya ordered roughly. He grabbed both of her hands and held them over her chest. "If you have energy to talk, you have energy to heal." He drew a shuddering breath and lowered his head. "Heal yourself." He lifted her hands and drove them down again. "Dammit," he cried, half whimpering, "heal!"_

_"Ah heh heh," she said drowsily, "I can, can't I?" But she didn't. Instead she lifted one hand and rested it lightly on Hitsugaya's chest._

_"Please, Inoue," he whispered. "Don't. Please."_

_Hitsugaya could feel her power moving through him, like a radiant light, like a blessing. His shoulder, his hands, the lacerations on his back -- he could feel his body relax as the pain spilled off. Even the worst of it -- the constant, maddening, agonizing thirst -- seemed to fade._

_"I'm sorry, Toushirou-kun," she said again. Her hand reached up, and brushed his cheek with the back of her fingers. "Forgive me." Her eyes closed with a sigh, and she drifted away._

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

_He didn't know how long he sat there, Inoue's golden hair in his lap, his mind a blank. It couldn't have been long, though. Rukia landed in front of him with a thud, uncharacteristically clumsy. Her face was contorted with grief as she looked down at the body. The body of her one and only friend._

_Histugaya didn't move, didn't speak. After all the time Rukia had spent worrying about him, there wasn't a scratch on him. "That's it?" she cried. An ocean of rage seemed to beat against her soul. "It was that easy? You kill her and you can't even _pretend_ to be upset?"_

_The boy just stared at her, his face resigned, as if he welcomed what he knew would come next. "I don't have any tears left," he said quietly._

_Rukia reached for her katana and advanced on him. Her eyes were entirely black, and the darkness was spreading under her skin, over her entire face. "If you can't cry," she snarled, "maybe you can scream."_

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

"You're not here to talk to me," Ichigo spat. He didn't know what was worse -- his anger or his embarrassment.

The great fire roared next to him, consuming the 12 Division lab. The conflagration cast strange orange light on Rukia's features. She shrugged. "Not exclusively."

"What ... was ... THAT?!!?" he cried, gesturing at the burning building. He could hear the alarms sounding throughout the Seireitei. And then another sensation, a cold horror, stole over him. Alarmed, he looked up at the sky.

"That is the mechanism that generates, or rather, that was the mechanism that used to generate, the deathstones," she said calmly. "...the barrier around the Seireitei."

With both sides of his soul, Ichigo felt a presence -- no, many, many presences, above and around the city. His throat tightened. Half of the shinigami, at least, were on earth evacuating humans from his hometown. "Your army," he wheezed, "the arrancar you pulled away from Karakura..."

Rukia threw him a very nasty smile. "Well," she said, "we had to put them somewhere."

TBC

* * *

...

_OK... sorry, will have to put in some author's note. Please pardon my melodrama; I don't know what's wrong with me today (agh! I really need to work! Why do I do this to myself!?)_

_I want to stress that Inoue did NOT commit suicide. She was given a choice: to hurt Hitsugaya or to let him hurt her. She didn't take off her mask because she was afraid that he'd kill her anyway. She didn't want him to have to make that choice, or live with the guilt. She healed him because she couldn't not heal him -- he was in pain. Also to show him that she could have, and that he shouldn't feel bad. Doubt it worked, though :) _

_This is a fine philosophical line, but it's very important to me. I'm not just saying this to cover my butt (don't commit suicide, kids!) There's a BIG DIFFERENCE between killing yourself and letting yourself die when it's your time. Suicide is cowardly, and Inoue is NEVER cowardly._

_I've been kind of jerking you guys around, with the "choosing sides" thing. Truth is, I don't know what to think anymore. I do know that there are two types of courage that I admire:_

_One is (at least in this fic) Ichigo. He is what I would call a pure warrior. He fights against what he believes to be evil. He doesn't manipulate; he doesn't scheme. He also doesn't vacillate or kowtow or delegate responsibility. He simply does what he believes to be right. He has what the Mahabharata would call dharma -- righteousness._

_The other (once again, my interpretation of her character) is Inoue. She is the pure pacifist. She will not harm anyone, even if it means that she is herself hurt. She doesn't judge others, nor but she doesn't abandon her morale sense. If she has to choose between healing another person or saving herself ... well, as you can see. She has what the Bible calls grace._

_Oh, so .. hm... what do you think? Good chapter? Pretentious blowhard pseudo-philosophy? Did you notice that Aizen is a complete bastard?_

_Ack .. must sleep... _


	7. Chapter 7

_Hi there! Thank you for the awesome reviews! _

_Chapter 7: in which the story turns a wee bit mushy. I'm not very good at mush, I'm afraid. But someone put this story in the UnoKen community, and I felt like I had to earn my keep :)_

* * *

Chapter 7

Rain

"Commander!"

His lieutenant's face was white and pasty; his mouth hung open as he struggled to speak.

Yamamoto did not even turn towards him. He merely stood with his hands behind his back, slightly stooped, his face turned up to the great windows. "I am aware of the situation, fukutaichou," he said. "I am old, but I can still sense reiatsu."

"It's not just that, sir!" the man wheezed. "The field is down! We're completely vulnerable!"

The general showed no surprise. The rain was stronger now -- the drops on the window pane had started to bead and run. For three thousand years, Yamamoto mused, I have watched the rain falling on my city. The sun rises; the earth dries. The rains come again. Three thousand years, and we are still not clean.

Perhaps what is needed, he thought, is fire.

"Initiate Operation Oblation," he ordered, turning to hobble towards the high dais.

His vice-captain gasped, and dropped to both knees. "No, Soutaichou! I beg you!"

"Lift your head, child," the old man said sternly, settling himself into his chair, "and do as I say."

ooooooooooooooooo

A howl went up around the city, a howl that was more than just the wind. One by one, another portal tore open the sky. Out of each emerged five or six figures, white-robed, hollow-chested. Viciously armed. They had all gone straight to final release. No playing with your prey -- those had been Aizen-sama's orders. No taunting, no banter. No mercy.

A flash of lighting illuminated the arch of the sky. For that instant, the shinigami below could the see the enemy silhouetted against the roiling storm clouds. Thousands ... tens of thousands of arrancar, sitting on the sky. And then, like hailstones, they began to fall.

ooooooooooooooooo

Zaraki Kenpachi watched from the window of his office, elated. He could hear the rain beat on the tile roof above him. He wasn't much for reckoning, but he figured they must be outnumbered ten to one, at least. Even with his dull spirit senses, he could sense deadly reiatsu flare all around them like a gathering typhoon.

"This may be a problem, sir," Ikkaku said, behind him. He was leaning back in the captain's chair, behind a desk covered with papers. Zaraki _never_ did his own paperwork.

"How so, ya damn pansy?" The giant turned to his third seat, surprised. He felt like all of his birthdays had come at once -- and that's a hell of a lot of birthdays. Thought Madarame would feel the same.

"Just saying," the bald man grinned, "out of all of 'em -- how do we figure which one's the strongest?"

"Heh."

Yumichika put one hand daintily to his chest. "How beautiful," he breathed, as explosions flared throughout the city. They felt a low rumble beneath their feet. "What a beautiful way to go."

"Yeah, yeah," Zaraki chuckled, "have fun. Round up the guys, you two. I'll be with you in a minute."

They left, a spring in their step, leaving their captain to get ready. These kind of odds, he thought, might as well live it up. He removed his eye patch, and then starting taking the bells out of his hair.

Yachiru bounded into the room, literally bounced off one wall, and threw her arms around Zaraki's neck. "Ken-chan!" she yelled at the top of her voice, "Billions and billions and billions of enemies!! Gonna slice 'em up?!"

He chuckled. "Yup."

The little pink-haired menace gave a happy giggle. Then she dove into a closet and dragged out a ragged-looking chest. It was only then that Zaraki realized -- Yachiru hadn't entered the room alone. Unohana Retsu stood in the doorway.

"Zaraki-taichou," she greeted with a warm smile and a nod.

"Uh ... Unohana," he replied awkwardly. He didn't know exactly what to say, but she didn't seem to expect anything. Noiselessly, she walked in and stood beside him, staring up out the tall dark windows.

"I believe," she said serenely, "that we are all going to die."

Zaraki blinked. Unohana didn't sound scared at all. Nor did Yachiru, who was digging through her toy box looking for explosives. He had given them to her on her last birthday, and she had been saving them for a special occasion. "Woot!" she cried joyously, jumping up. "Here we _go_!"

Unohana smiled at the child indulgently. Zaraki felt an uncomfortable knot in his stomach, something novel and entirely unexpected. He had never, he realized suddenly, put Yachiru in real danger before. His lieutenants understood the unspoken system -- if she wanted to play with a no-account weakling, they would let her. If it looked even a little bit like the enemy was too much, they would step in. They didn't have to often, of course -- habitual pride made Zaraki smirk -- kid was damn strong.

This time, though, most like, no one was gettin' out.

He was uncomfortably aware of Unohana's closeness to him, as well. Somehow, he didn't like the idea ... Ah, &#, he told himself savagely. He didn't give a damn about his boys buying it, did he? Any more than he minded dying himself -- why the hell should he worry about her? Damn female turning him about. "What are you doing here?!" he barked, rounding on her. "Don't you have flunkies to heal, or something?"

She stared, momentarily disconcerted, but quickly recovered her poise. "No," she mused, "not this time. Survivors would only be captured, after all, and most would not prefer that."

The room filled with her spirit power, her reiatsu, as always, warm and comforting. It was also unbelievably strong. Caught by surprise, Yachiru fell backwards into her toy box with a squeak. Unohana slowly and deliberately unwove her braid, and tied her hair behind her head. Then she removed her cumbersome outer robes, until she wore only the uniform of a shinigami soldier -- light, loose, and combat-ready. "This time," she said, "I am going to fight."

Zaraki gaped at her, temporarily robbed of his power of speech. He couldn't help himself. God, he thought. What a beautiful woman.

"As for why I am here," she said calmly, looking up into his stupefied expression, "as I said, we are going to die." Gravely, she reach up and touched both sides of Zaraki's neck, just below his jaw. He fingers were cool and steady, almost as if she were conducting a medical examination. Then she stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him softly on the lips.

"Ooo! Ken-chan!" Yachiru squealed, "are you gonna be Doctor-lady's boytoy cuz if you are I have some ques.."

"Shut it, Yachiru!" he snapped. Accustomed to this kind of rebuff, the child shrugged and started tucking brightly-colored little bombs into different parts of her uniform

"Don't," Zaraki said, pulling down Unohana's hands and dropping his eyes. "I don't deserve it."

"No one deserves love, Zaraki-taichou," she answered, unfazed. "Love is a gift."

The giant turned away and kicked over a chair, sulkily. Stupid #$& woman, doesn't have the sense God gave a bumblebee, doesn't ... godDAMNit! "It's like you said earlier," he scowled. "You shouldn't get tangled up with monsters."

The healer's face was grave, now. They could hear the wind redouble outside, carrying with it screams and not-so-distant crashes. "Perhaps you have done monstrous things," she said, "Perhaps you are indeed a monster." He grunted, still not looking at her. "But, right or wrong, I do not see you that way."

Zaraki just growled, and mumbled something about battles and being late and missing the good parts.

"Nor does Yachiru," Unohana said, ignoring him. She wrinkled her nose playfully at the little girl. "You don't think he's a monster, do you, Yachiru-chan?"

"Ken-chan?" Yachiru's sat up a little straighter in her playbox, her pink hair disheveled. She seemed torn between shock and outrage. With one jump, she landed with a crash on top of the desk, scattering papers everywhere. Standing like a sergeant-general, she pointed one stubby finger directly into Zaraki's face. "Ken-chan. Is. AWESOME!!!!" she bawled.

Zaraki was about to bat her off the desk and tell her to stop making a damned fool of herself, when he paused. Her great wide eyes stared directly into his -- clear and happy and completely sincere. The office lamps being behind him, he could see two small images of himself caught in those bright blue eyes.

A familiar voice seemed to echo in Zaraki's mind. A memory.

_The heart is like a mirror._

.,..ok. Where had he heard that? What the #$& did it mean? In the dark windows behind Yachiru, he could see Unohana fold her hands before her.

_The heart is like mirror._

Then another voice came to him -- Hitsugaya's low rasp, from that time by the edge of the river.

_Reflect._

ooooooooooooooooooo

He was in darkness again, but this time the blackness felt less heavy. Friendlier.

"Zaraki Kenpachi," he heard. The voice no longer sounded ethereal; it sounded real. Close. Behind him to the right, to be precise. Hardly daring to breathe, Zaraki turned around slowly.

She was slender, but looked fit and frankly dangerous. Her legs were wrapped from just above the knees to her hips, covered by a flap of black fabric in front and behind. A black top wrapped around her small chest and clasped behind her neck, exposing the abdomen. Black tattoos crawled up her arms. Dark hair was tied in a tight knot above her head, and her face looked ... amused. "About time," she said.

"Wait," he said, confused, "time what? Did I do something?"

The woman moved closer. "I am your true self," she said. "You cannot see yourself, except when you look at the people you love."

She stooped, and dipped her hand into, well, into nothing. Into the blackness. Then she lifted the darkness up, and let it spill through her fingers like sand. "The heart is like a mirror," she murmured. "We exist as we are reflected in the hearts of others, and as they are reflected in us. A mirror is real; it's solid. But if you point a mirror at nothing, it is nothing. It is empty."

Zaraki nodded wisely. His zanpakutou cast him a sideways look. "You didn't understand a word I just said, did you?"

Zaraki shook his head, wisely.

She sighed and straightened. "Normally, I would make you work harder for this. But I gather," her face broke into a wide grin, "that this is a special occasion."

She grabbed his lapel and pulled him down towards her, and then she whispered something in his ear.

"Huh," he grunted. "That's a nice name."

oooooooooooooo

"Ken-chaaaaaaan!!!" He felt Yachiru's tiny hands on his cheeks. She was shaking him. "Wake up! Wake up wake up wake up wake up!!!! Got a billion enemies to kill!!"

He slapped her hands away, annoyed, and she squealed with glee. She and Unohana could both feel his spirit power rising, stronger and wilder than they had ever felt before. All of the windows shook from his sheer unconscious pressure, and Yumichika's knick-knacks rattled off the desk.

"Only a billion?" Zaraki Kenpachi said, licking his long lips. "And here I was hoping for a challenge."

Unohana smiled, and held out one slender hand to him. "Shall we?" she said.

oooooooooooooo

Ichigo didn't know how long the two of them faced off. The Seireitei was crumbling around them. Fire raged beside them, too hot to be extinguished, causing the steady rainfall to hiss and steam. The wind whipped their soaked robes into a frantic flapping motion. From all sides they could hear the confused sound of battle -- shouted orders, running feet, the clash of many swords.

"My offer still stands, Ichigo!" Rukia yelled over the clamor. "Fight with us! You don't have to die here."

Her eyes blazed with defiance. But at the same time he heard -- maybe he imagined it -- a note of pleading.

"Rukia," he shouted, "I'm going to save you, remember?"

The small woman drew her white katana and released her spirit force. The young man's heart almost skipped a beat -- he could not imagine that she had become so strong. "I guess you'll just have to beat some sense into me, then!" she bawled back at him, her face mocking.

"I won't fight for Aizen," Kurosaki Ichigo pulled out zangetsu. The orange flames reflected in its black blade as he swung it around. "I won't even fight for Soul Society." He brought the great sword up in an arc until it pointed directly at Rukia. The air around his lanky form began to glow slightly, and then to blaze, while an updraft of spirit caught his orange hair and set it to riot.

His head lifted, staring at Rukia, the fire dancing gold in his eyes. "But I will fight for you."

oooooooooooooo

The rain had started to beat down in windswept sheets; Matsumoto could barely keep her eyes open. All around them, fights were breaking out on the streets of the Seireitei -- fires were springing up. A muted roar rose up from the city.

She didn't know what to do. She should go down and fight. None of the monsters had landed here -- not yet. But her captain stood on the edge of the cliff, unmoving, unfrightened, his eyes still turned towards the heavens. She couldn't leave him.

Hitsugaya's white hair was soaking wet, plastered over his forehead. The water ran down his face into his eyes, but he made no attempt to wipe it away.

_If I were the rain..._

He couldn't tell whether the voice was real, or a long-suppressed memory. An echo, maybe. A reflection. He lifted his hands, as if in supplication. The raindrops beat down on them, scattering into a halo of glittering spray. His hands were bigger than he remembered, the fingers long and fine, the knuckles and palms crisscrossed with silver-white scar tissue.

Surely these were not his hands. These hands had murder in them.

The mind is a wild place, and a dangerous one, with infinite corridors, closets and abattoirs. In the mind, memories take on a life of their own -- they prowl its halls like beast of prey. They hide when they need to, and attack when they are least wanted. Hitsugaya sank to his knees, resisting the urge to vomit.

Matsumoto sprang forward with a cry, but he did not hear her. He didn't feel the explosion, just behind him, some kind of arrancar bomb that almost cut the Soukyoku Hill in two. He didn't notice that his lieutenant staggered back, blinded by the blast. The din of battle faded from his consciousness altogether.

_If I were the rain, that binds together the earth and sky..._

The words murmured cool and gentle in his spirit. Hitsugaya knew that voice. His body shook as he knelt, head bowed, hair dripping. He felt the cold rivulets run down the scar on his neck. It felt, strangely, like he was being washed clean. Purified.

_Which are eternally separate..._

"Matsumoto," he said, turning only his head. She stood, shaking the stars from her vision. The wind was so strong, it was almost hard to move. "Go find Abarai."

She put one hand on the hilt of her sword. The blast had winded her, and her forehead was bleeding, but she was mostly uninjured. "I'm staying with you, Captain. I can't..."

"Matsumoto!" Hitsugaya's voice was suddenly deeper, stronger -- his voice from years ago. "That's an order."

_Could I touch the heart of another?_

The blond hesitated a moment longer, then turned and ran to the eastern edge of the mesa. It was difficult, with so many spirits descending on the city, but she managed to pinpoint his spirit power. She would not have been able to locate anyone else's, but she found his. He wasn't too far -- she could even see him, if she squinted. He was stumbling out of the sixth division detention building. Matsumoto knew, instantly, without any doubt whatsoever, what he was doing. In all this carnage and devastation and danger, he was looking for her.

It took Rangiku thirty-seven flash steps to reach Renji; she counted every one. When she reached him, she kissed him as if it were her last, and only, purpose in life.

_If I were the rain..._

Hitsugaya closed his eyes, tears mingling with the water on his face. This was not his storm. The pain, the sorrow, the guilt -- he could feel them all claw at him, despite the soothing touch of the wind. It didn't matter. He couldn't let himself drift, not now. Now he had to fight.

He held out his hands again. This time the scattered droplets did not fall away, but hung, suspended. Slowly the water gathered, coalesced. Crystallized. Molecule by molecule a gleaming katana knit itself into the air above the trembling fingers.

"Thank you, Inoue," he whispered.

Then Hitsugaya Tourshirou, captain of the Gotei 13, leapt into the sky, like a white flare above the city. "Set in the frozen heavens," he called, "Hyourinmaru!"

TBC

* * *

_So, ah, whatcha think? Criticism always welcome; romance is not my strong suit. Feel free to flame -- people do get more worked up about bad romance than they do about, say, torture. I do, anyway :) _

_Also, please let me know if the last section is confusing, as well -- I might have lapsed a little too much into "still-recovering-HItsu-stream-of-conscious" narrative. (Is Inoue in the rain? Or is she in his head? Does it matter?)_


	8. Chapter 8

_OK, I know this is waaaay late. Many many apologies. _

_Excuses:_

_1) Real life. Damn real life! _

_2) I hate it when I get really into a fic, and then it just stops. So I don't start writing one until I have most of it in my head already, at least the conflict, tension and resolution. The problem was, in my head, this chapter looked pretty simple: BIG BATTLE __à__ last two scenes. I didn't realize until I got to it how friggin' hard it is to write a big battle. No, seriously! You try it! Anyway, hope it doesn't suck too badly. If it does, skip to the last two scenes._

_Thank you for the awesome reviews!_

_Not mine._

* * *

Chapter 8

Fire

Ignore the ancient ballads; forget the sagas. Battles cannot be written down. If a hundred man army platoon takes on an army a thousand strong, that's 1,100 stories to be told: some of heroism, some of atrocity, most of confusion, all of madness. Many alarmingly brief.

The battles of the dead, it turns out, are no different.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Vierro looked out over the battle, his long spiky fingers dripping with shinigami blood. He breathed in the scent of carnage; he savored the roar pressing in on all sides. His own blood was high, singing in his veins. At the same time, the tall arrancar was aware of a petulance within himself -- a dissatisfaction. That last one had put up a good struggle, but it had been over too quickly, far too quickly. Vierro bared his teeth. He wanted something a little more ... lingering.

That's why he was so excited to spot his next prey: a teenager, all in white, standing on the wind. With his pure white hair, the shinigami looked rather frail, and vaguely familiar. Vierro licked his lips and purred with delight. Finally, he thought, something beautiful to destroy.

Forgetting their instructions, he hailed the enemy. "Espada Numero Cinco, Cruedado Vierro" he called, dropping into a low bow. "Pleased to make your... kkt "

It took half a second for the ice to travel from his chest to his brain, freezing Vierro's face in an astonished expression. The shinigami pulled his katana out, causing the suddenly statue-like body to crack, crumble, and fall to earth. "Histugaya Toushirou," the young man said shortly. "We've met."

oooooooooooooooooooooo

The rain had stopped abruptly, as if the sky itself paused to take a breath. The moon slipped out behind ragged clouds, but its light was obscured. Fires had broken out around the Seireitei, and black smoke spilled into the suddenly still air.

The one remaining pool of serenity was the fourth division garden, which Unohana had tended -- leaf by leaf and pebble by pebble -- for over a thousand years. No matter how deadly the conflict, no matter how many wounded she had under her care, the healer could always retreat to this place, to this calm.

At the moment, however, the fourth division had no leisure to enjoy the garden. The damaged and the dying were pouring in; there were far more patients than beds, or healers. Captain Unohana could not be found.

Suddenly a scream rose from the hospital, not a cry of pain but of fright. A young nurse had dropped her instruments and was pointing out the round window. White forms were scuttling over the walls like a swarm of ants. Two-, four-, nine- legged creatures of every nightmarish description, gleaming white and gold as they passed through moonlight and firelight. They charged, howling and shrieking, across the pebble beds, crushing ponds and small trees without ever noticing that they were there.

The poor tender fourth squad didn't stand a chance. Some had scattered early, intending to act as battlefield medics for other divisions. A few had run later, for their own skins. Most had remained in the hospital, to treat the wounded as they were brought in. They had not expected, had never imagined, an attack on their own headquarters.

Twenty of so shinigami ran out to meet the invaders, ignoring Lieutenant Koetsu's frantic orders to retreat. Who knows what they were thinking? Possibly they moved out of habit. I'm sorry, sirs, their body language seemed to say -- visiting hours are over; please come back later. Possibly they were impelled by the latent nobility of the medic, the compulsion to save their patients at any cost. Regardless, they were cut down with scarcely more considerations that the shrubs and ornamental pots. Then they were trampled underfoot.

Koetsu swore, something she had hardly attempted before. "Get everyone out!" she yelled at the third seat. "I'll buy you as much time as I can!"

The young woman stood shaking on the wooden walkway, katana drawn. This was where she had sat so often with her Captain, taking a quiet cup of tea. This is where she came when she woke from a nightmare. Now fifty half-masked monsters stared at her, eyes darker than the darkness. This is where she was going to die.

Then she felt a presence beside her -- no, it was two. She didn't dare look at them until she felt their reiatsu as well. "Captain Komammura!" she gasped, "Captain Kuchiki!" Her knees almost collapsed with relief; she had completely forgotten that the two had been brought in for treatment earlier that day.

Neither had completely recovered, but neither particularly seemed to care. Komammura bayed with anger. "Vandals!" he roared. "Barbarians! How dare you violate a sacred place of healing!"

Byakuya merely sniffed. He had never understood why his fellow captains felt the need to posture or rant or (in Kyouraku's case) to babble during a confrontation. A fight is no place for words, Byakuya thought, as the garden filled with glimmering steel petals. A good fight is about the violence.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

"I'm just saying," Kyouranku shouted over the din, "arrancar have no manners, these days!!" He spun, bringing his twin blades down on two opponents at once. He and Ukitake were fighting back to back in the great training grounds; their powers were best suited to open spaces. "No sense of drama!" Many of the enemy, unfortunately, apparently felt the same way. There seemed no end of them. Already the two were fighting on a pile of bodies. "No repartee!"

The man ducked, as a great boar-like arrancar leapt at him. Then he hissed as another, scorpion-shaped, lashed out and caught him across the back. Kyouraku kept his wits, however. Instead of stumbling forward into yet a third enemy, he leapt up, flipped, and landed behind the scorpion, lopping off the murderous tail with one stroke. The arrancar gave a high-pitched insect screech, and scrambled away.

Kyouraku pulled himself up. The wound on his back felt a little numb. Dammit, he thought. Poison. "Here!" he wheezed at Ukitake, brushing the matter aside, "I'll prove it. You!" he bellowed at the wounded insect. "Can't think of a _stinging_ retort, can you?"

For a moment the arrancar blinked, truly appalled. Even a few of its fellows paused in their attack, gaping at the flamboyant shinigami. As they did so, the Captain of the Thirteenth ran them through.

"Shunsui," Ukitake panted. "I speak as a friend and a brother-in-arms." The white-haired man turned into an oncoming attack, parrying four thrusts, then closing on the last when the arrancar overextended. "Shut up. And. Fight."

They couldn't keep this up much longer, Ukitake thought, diving again into the fray. Already his arms were a little heavier, his feet a little slower. There were more arrancar now than when they had started.

An explosion of reiatsu burst out to the east. Sparing a glance, the two captains saw Komamurra's giant samurai looming over the city. Encouraging, of course, though they could already see the enemy swarming up its arms and legs. "I think," Kyouraku said, having carved out a moment to breathe, "that we're going to have to step it up, too."

"Just a minute," Ukitake said. He had stopped and was looking up at the sky. Amazingly, the arrancar did as well.

Everyone could feel the pulse of power above, and soon they could see it -- a brilliant white light suspended over the city. The air seemed to swirl around it, forming storm clouds. If you looked very closely, you would see those clouds coil into a giant, translucent, lightning-filled dragon.

"Ah," thought Ukitake. "So that's where all the rain went."

oooooooooooooooooooooo

There is rain, and rain can be dangerous. Snow is worse, of course -- death by hypothermia is not pleasant. Sleet and freezing rain will do the job quicker, and hail can knock the brains out of a man if he's not careful.

Nothing quite beats icicles, though. Ten-pound, razor-sharp, reiatsu-filled icicles, hurled down from a hundred feet with unerring accuracy.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Unohana pushed her opponent off her blade; he was heavy, and it took some effort. The arrancar was already dead -- a healer knows exactly where to strike. She paused a moment to breathe, trying to assess her situation. She had somehow been separated from the others and forced down a small ally. Corpses from both armies littered the streets and the rooftops, dangerous obstacles in the darkness.

She stiffened. Two ... no, three arrancar were advancing down the alley. Another four were approaching the other way. One of them seemed stronger than the others -- an Espada, she was sure. Unohana lowered herself to a fighting stance. She could take them, she thought. But she found herself wishing that she had put aside more time for combat practice these last few hundred years.

In the end, she didn't have to prove anything. A huge mass landed on the Espada, grinding its face into the cobblestones. Within seconds, Zaraki had thrown its three companions into -- and through -- the surrounding walls. Yachiru descended on the other group. Unohana didn't quite catch how they died, only that it looked painful. And pink.

"Don't wander off, woman!" Zaraki snapped, turning to her.

The Captain of the Fourth carried no feminist chip on her shoulder, but she had her limits. "I am perfectly capable of..."

"Oi." All three shinigami stopped in their tracks and looked up. Hitsugaya was perched on the overhang above them, squatting near the edge of the roof. He spoke clearly and deliberately, though his voice was still not over-loud. "You're running around without a plan, Zaraki."

"Tch." Zaraki snorted, piqued. "Brat just remembers how to talk, and already he's bossing folk about."

"You seem to have taken out quite a few of the invaders." Unohana smiled up at him.

"Mmm," the teenager stood and stretched a little, trying to work out something in his shoulder. "Not enough. What's happening at the great hall?"

Zaraki frowned at this apparent non-sequitor. "I could see the whole city from above," Hitsugaya said. He pointed up towards the building in question. "Most of the rank and file shinigami are retreating there. Why? They'll be trapped."

Unohana leapt up to the rooftop next to the young man. "That's Operation Oblation," she said, her eyes fixed on the great hall. She sounded unexpectedly grim. "It is better that we do not interfere."

"Oblation? What's that?" The question came not from Hitsugaya, but from Zaraki. "A hells butterfly was twittering about it earlier."

The healer stared down at the giant, aghast. "Do you _never_ pay attention at meetings?"

Hitsugaya cut shot Zaraki's answer. "I'll assume that Yamamoto has that situation under control," he said, as businesslike as he had ever been. "That leaves two major offenses to be countered. One is close, in the shopping district," he pointed, "Three hundred strong, and unopposed. Kira was overrun."

The Captain of the 11th landed on the roof next to them, with all the grace of a 700-pound gorilla. "I'll take 'em," he said, glee on his face. "You can come watch, if you like." This last was directed at Unohana, who blushed as if he had handed her a bunch of roses. Then, without waiting for an answer, he bounded across the rooftops, breaking tile as he went. Not two hundred yards from them, he jumped into the street again, smack in the middle of looting arrancar.

Zaraki was a straightforward soul. So, it seemed, was his zanpaktou. "Fight!" he roared, "Rakujin!"

Unohana moved to follow him, when she felt a hand on her elbow. "He's achieved shikai?" Hitsugaya murmured.

She smiled. "Yes. It does not change the form of his zanpakutou, and though it augments his reiatsu, the increase is not too significant."

This was received by an expression of green-eyed incredulity. "Then what..."

Her eyes were dreamy as she listened to the howls and wails that suddenly rose from the shopping district. "It gives him joy. You are tired, Hitsugaya-taichou." He looked away. "I am tired. But that man will never weary in battle, not if he fights a hundred years at a stretch."

oooooooooooooooooooooo

When Unohana was left, Hitsugaya turned to Yachiru. The child was looking strangely disgruntled -- she was not sure she liked Ken-chan being Doctor-lady's boytoy.

"There's another two hundred arrancar between us and the West Gate and Hisagi," he said casually. "I'd better be going."

Yachiru crossed her arms and pouted. "You think you're so smart!" she said. "There's a bunch up at that big hill, ya know! Maybe I'll take care of that!"

"Matsumoto has it covered," he answered, unconcerned. As if to confirm this, they heard a hissing roar from that direction. A great tawny grey tiger materialized on the Soukyoku, its coat bristling with running flames. Then it seemed to disintegrate, to melt into a massive wave of sand that crashed down upon the city. At the same time the Baboon King Zabimaru reared up from the buildings, its eerie shriek clawing through the night air.

"Hmph," Yachiru stuck her hands in her pockets. "Might as well go with you, I guess. Should warn ya, though -- you won't get to kill much, with me along."

Hitsugaya twitched one white eyebrow. "You don't really think you can outfight me, do you," he asked, "little girl?"

Yachiru rocked where she stood, and nearly unleashed her full bezerker fury. But then she caught his arrogant half smile, and the murderous gleam in his eyes. She knew that gleam very, very well. Huh, she thought. He's a big kid and all, almost a grown-up. But I guess he still knows how to play.

"Oh, you're _on_, Snowball," she grinned in return. "Don't go crying when I beat ya to the gate."

He glanced sideways at her. "I still have ban kai, you know."

The girl's smile only broadened. "Yeah, yeah," she said. "So do I."

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Ichigo mopped his face, breathing hard. The fire had spread to the buildings around them. The air was full of sparks; it was hard to breathe.

Dammit, he thought wearily. Rukia stood across the way, in front of a blazing entryway. Her face was scratched and burned, and her shoulders heaved a little. She was just as exhausted as he was.

It felt like they had been fighting for hours, neither gaining any ground. We're too evenly matched, Ichigo thought, grinding his teeth. He couldn't let this drag on -- the more tired he became, the more likely he was to really hurt her.

"Give up, idiot!" Rukia screamed at him. "The city has fallen!"

At the word 'fallen', something cracked in the building behind her. She turned her head, but too slow -- the door frame had come loose and was toppling down towards her.

"Look out!" Ichigo's body moved without his volition, knocking the small woman out of the way. He had not bothered either with direction or momentum; they rolled headfirst into the burning building.

"You ... moron!" she cried, kicking him off with a solid blow to the stomach. Ichigo stumbled back. Trying to ignore the flames all around, he raised zangetsu once more. The two lunged at each other, their blades clashing madly. Then they fell apart, heaving for breath. The heat was unbearable, and the building unsound. If they didn't get out of here soon they would be burned and buried alive.

Rukia, Ichigo thought. It felt like the heat was penetrating into his soul, giving him fever dreams. I don't know if I loved you, before I lost you, or even if I love you now. But I know I won't lose you again. He blinked, stepped forward, and dropped his sword.

The arrancar stared at the blade for a moment, her brow knotting itself into a mask of fury. "What?" she hissed. "Laying down your life? Appealing to my true, good self?" she laughed harshly, almost hysterically. "You don't get it, Ichigo! You don't know me; you don't know the things I've done!" Her black eyes lifted to his, and he was startled to see tears glitter in them. Then she drew herself up. "Defenseless or not," she spat, lifting her katana, "I am going to gut you like the puppy you are, and leave you to roast in this hell."

Ichigo sighed. Not exactly a profession of undying love, he thought wryly. But she had hesitated. That was enough.

Fighting is all about distance. The greatest master in the world cannot stab a four-foot sword into an opponent less than a foot away. As Rukia swung her zanpakutou up, still ranting, Ichigo flashstepped into her guard, close enough to grab her shoulder. With the other hand, he punched her hard in the jaw.

For just an instant Rukia looked startled, then fell limp to the ground. Ichigo picked her up, gently, and carried her outside. "Sorry," he murmured. "I'm just not that nice a person."

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Ulquiorra walked calmly through the huge doors of the great hall, his hands, as always, stuffed into his pockets. Things were going more or less according to plan. They had taken heavier losses than had been expected -- Hitsugaya had apparently made more than a full recovery, and some of the other captains had shown unanticipated improvement. No matter.

The majority of the remaining shinigami had decided to take a last stand in this place. A foolish choice, he thought. Certainly they had a temporary advantage of position and cover. The building was enormous and complex; a clever shinigami could defend the many narrow back corridors for quite a while. But now fully half of the arrancar army had entered the complex. The elite of Soul Society had nowhere else to go.

He approached the high dais. The Soutaichou was sitting there apparently untroubled, while his lieutenants fought desperately around him. For just a second, Ulquiorra thought that he saw the ancient eyes glance towards him.

The Espada commander turned cold. "Everyone," he shouted, "Pull ba..."

Too quickly to be seen, Yamamoto stood. Then he rapped his cane on the floor three times. It did not look like he had used much force, but the marble cracked beneath the blow. Boom. Boom. Boom. The sound rattled through the building, traveling in and through the enormous stone walls.

As that signal, the shinigami disappeared. All of them. They flashstepped away and out. Before their befuddled opponents could turn to chase them, they had closed the massive door. Every door of the compound slammed shut with ominous finality.

Ulquiorra held his breath. He didn't bother to check the entranceways; he was sure they were securely locked. There was only a long row of tiny square windows, running along the edge of the ceiling, too small for an escape. The arrancar shuddered. They reminded him of the breathing holes in a wood stove.

He turned his mind back to the Commander, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Five seconds ago, the shinigami were trapped with half of the arrancar army. Now the arrancar army was trapped with Yamamoto Genryuusai.

The old man closed his eyes, as if in a moment of prayer. Then he lifted his hands. Whatever evil I have committed, he thought, I have done so for my people. Perhaps this last act may purge away my sin. "Ryuujin Jakka," he rasped, "Let all of creation burn."

TBC

* * *

_Reviews welcome, as always!_

_By the by ... I wasn't going to name Zaraki's zanpakutou, since that can get overwritten in canon (though, of course, all of this will. Oh well) But then someone said they wanted to know what it was, so I added a shameless self-insert. "Rakujin" is how I think my Chinese name would be pronounced in Japanese. In Chinese, it means "joyful one." (The 'raku' is the same character as in Kyouraku). Here's hoping it doesn't mean something dirty in Japanese. Though, I guess that would fit Zaraki's character as well :)_


	9. Chapter 9

_Hey there! Thanks for all the great reviews! Sorry about the delay; I've been traveling. And this chapter was unexpectedly difficult. _

Chapter 9

Facets

L'homme existe entre l'abime et l'infini.

Man exists between the abyss and the infinite.

_The stone was pathetically simple and small. It sat against the wall directly across from the high window, so that the afternoon light fell directly on its cracked grey surface. At Rukia's insistence, they had carved in her name. The arrancar could only manage clumsy, blocklike kanji, but it was there: Inoue Orihime._

_The dark-haired arrancar knelt before the gravestone, her hands folded in her lap. She found that she couldn't grieve, couldn't even let herself indulge in memory. She had nothing to say to the departed spirit of her friend. Rukia knew full well that Inoue would not approve of what she had become. Inoue was gone._

_She was not quite alone, however. A tall slim arrancar stood quietly behind her, out of the direct path of the sunlight. The others had all left. The body had been interred without fuss or ceremony, a grudging concession to Kuchiki's fastidiousness. Only Aizen had paused a moment, running his fingers along the cold tomb. Then he had walked out without a word, and everyone else had followed suit. Only Ulquiorra had remained, and Rukia ignored him._

_After about a half hour, however, the arrancar commander began to speak. His deep voice fell naturally into the stillness, somehow neither startling nor unwelcome. "The Presence and the Absence both exist," he said, "real and immutable. We mortals turn between them, reflecting in turns the darkness and the light. And more, we mirror the infinite souls who turn around us -- the flashes of kindness, the shadows of despair. Like a shifting kaleidoscope, we catch and transmit the great, beautiful confusion of human hearts."_

_Rukia recognized a eulogy when she heard one, and for a while she held a respectful silence. "But we choose, don't we?" she asked finally, as if compelled. "We decide which way to turn."_

_"It is our great privilege and our great curse." The Espada leader stepped a little closer, so that he stood by Rukia's shoulder, and together they stared down at the little engraved stone. "This one always chose well," he sighed. "She brightened places that had long been dark."_

_"And you, Ulquiorra-san?" Rukia said softly. "Where do you incline your heart?"_

_Perhaps he did not hear her. Over the long years that followed, he never answered her question._

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ulquiorra shielded his eyes. His heart was racing, but he managed to maintain his calm, even as the high dais seemed to explode into flames and his men crushed each other in their haste to get away. Panic rose like a smothering fog in the great hall, clamped down only by their leader's barked orders. Ulquiorra's presence of mind had made him commander of the forces of the Hueco Mundo -- he would not give up so easily. Yamamoto was only one man.

The air wavered and blurred before the High Commander of the Gotei 13. Engulfed in flame, the old man stood passive, shoulders bare, hands folded. Even though his face was obscured, the posture of his body spoke clearly.

_Come, children._

Drawing his zanpakutou, The Espada Captain stepped forward. He was about to order a general charge when he felt the rain. Rain? He looked down at his hand, bemused. Wasn't I inside? he thought, almost dreamily. Hundreds of heads turned up. From countless tiny holes in the high ceiling, what looked like water was streaming down, covering the place in a fine mist.

Unperturbed by the screeching horror rising all around him, Ulquiorra continued to examine his hand. He watched as the liquid ran down his fingers and pooled in his palm. A golden, scented liquid. He closed his black-lidded eyes. Oil.

Whatever his sins, whatever his secrets, Ulquiorra was no coward. He stood erect, refusing to retreat from the blistering heat. Like Yamamoto had done a moment before, he said his private prayers. He made his peace.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

"I can't breathe."

Ichigo relaxed his grip on her shoulders, surprised that she had regained consciousness so quickly. They had almost reached the boundary of the city. Rukia lay light and warm in his arms, no longer limp, but not resisting him either.

"Where are you taking me?" If anything, she sounded annoyed. Ichigo allowed himself a twinge of hope. In happier times, Rukia had expressed all of her better feelings through irritation.

"There's a river, out in district one," he answered out loud, picking his way through the shattered streets. "Renji and I were there this afternoon." It seemed a lifetime ago. "We stashed some food away in a little cave behind the waterfall. I thought you and I could stay there until this all blows over."

He stopped on a short guard tower on the outskirts of the Seireitei -- one of many which now kept watch over the Rukongai. The city was burning behind him. Before him the humble towns of the alley folk stood dark and quiet. Of course all of the human souls had already fled into a network of underground bunkers. The Gotei 13 had painstakingly constructed these hideaways, provisioned them, and made them nearly impossible to find -- ghosts' spirit power was too hard to detect. At least, Ichigo thought, we've done that much right.

Rukia slipped out of his arms. For just a heartbeat, Ichigo instinctively tried to hold on to her. But sober experience warned against it. Love, like battle, is all about distance.

Certainly her face did not encourage closeness. "Why on earth, or above it," she said, walking a space away and glaring at him, "would I go along with that? Do you really think I'll just roll over and run away with you, because you slipped in a sucker punch?" Ichigo saw, with a twinge of guilt, that a bruise was beginning to flower on her lower cheek. She sighed. "It's no use, Ichigo. After Ulquiorra takes control of the city, you're the first person he'll look for. I wasn't lying when I said Aizen-sama sent me to recruit you personally. You won't be able to hide from him in the woods."

"Tch." Ichigo shrugged. "Look around you, woman."

Suddenly Rukia's eyes widened. She had reached out with her spiritual senses, and didn't like what she felt. Smoke was rising from the city in many places around them, and elsewhere, great daggers of ice jutted out of buildings like broken bones. It was evident that the battle still raged, but the noise had died down a little. Still, her gaze turned inexorably to the great hall. Flames poured out of the building's tiny windows like water escaping a sieve, joined together and lifted high into the night. It blazed like a torch, like a funeral pyre, high on the hill for all to see.

There is something hypnotic about fire. The way it moves, the way it almost breathes. Its ephemeral, self-devouring beauty. Ichigo watched it wordlessly, respectfully. A dry wind lifted the hairs on his neck, as the air for miles around seemed sucked into the inferno.

"So the Commander has sacrificed himself?" Rukia asked quietly.

Coming out of his reverie, the orange-haired young man shrugged. "In a way," he said. "Fire can't kill Yama-jii, any more than water could kill Toushirou. But Unohana told me once, ice preserves, and fire destroys. The old man is pouring himself out. He won't be a shinigami after this."

"Too bad," Rukia muttered, but she didn't sound like she meant it. Ichigo could sympathize. He could sense the void as well -- a lot of arrancar were dying in that fire.

He touched her elbow, rather tentatively. "They've lost, Rukia. They can't hold you."

As if to confirm his words, a massive explosion burst out not far from them, towards the formal western gate. A bright sphere of light, like a small pink nuclear explosion, tore through several buildings, obliterating them. Shortly afterwards, they felt a blast of cold air that left ice particles on their cheeks.

Rukia shook off her old friend's hand. "You can't hold me either," she said flatly.

Ichigo set his jaw. "Rukia..."

She turned slowly towards him, her face setting into stone. "Do you know how I broke little Shirou?" The tone of her voice, even more than the words, set a shiver down his spine. "No one else could manage it. But I used that old watchman's kidou, the one that keeps you awake on lookout duty. Stopped him from blacking out, you see. His mind desperately needed to shut down, and it couldn't; he just had to bear the pain, and he couldn't Nobody could have, not what I did to him. After a few hours, he would have said anything, he would have done _anything_, to make me stop."

Her eyes gleamed black and savage in the moonlight. "Ichigo," she said, "I am not the person you knew."

He merely grunted. "After we lost you," he said, "I gave in to my hollow side for a while. I did things I can't admit to you, things I'll always regret." He paused. "They were about to put me down. Like a mad dog."

Rukia rolled her eyes. "And you were saved by the healing power of love, I suppose."

"Close enough," he said softly. "I was saved by you." Rukia twitched one incredulously eyebrow, but Ichigo plowed on before she could interrupt again. "I heard your voice in my spirit world, where I thought I was trapped. Clear as day, I heard you -- 'we decide which way to turn,' you said." He gave a sheepish half-smile. "I guess I was remembering some conversation from a long time ago. The point is, I believed that voice. I still believe it. People can change, if they have someone to turn to."

There was a long moment of silence. The wind had definitely picked up. It seemed to wash over the city's turmoil, dissipating the smoke, the chaos. When Rukia finally spoke, she did not look at him. "I never said that to you," she murmured, as if to herself.

Ichigo didn't understand, but wasn't about to give up. "It's hard as hell," he said, "and it's impossible on your own." He took a tentative step towards her. "But you're not on your own, Rukia."

She drew in a sudden sharp intake of breath, as if in pain. She felt her eyes sting. Funny, she thought, swallowing back the tears, how much he's matured, and how naïve he's remained. How he can't see that there's no hope for me anymore. Anger began to rage against the hurt, and Rukia ground her teeth. He doesn't understand -- when a soul has fallen so far into evil, there is nothing it resents more than a little simple kindness.

"You're right," she said, her voice harsh, "we've lost. The many worlds are closed to me now, all but one. To that last dark valley I will resign myself." She leapt effortlessly a few feet up to a parapet of the tower. Ichigo lifted his arms to shield his face against the new and darker wind that swirled about her form. "But as you care so much," she sneered, as shadows gathered around her, "I might as well take you with me."

His stomach dropped within himself, feeling her power grow. Evidently, she had not shown him a fraction of her true strength until now. Her katana seemed to materialize in her hand, without being drawn, sweeping up and around in a graceful circle. "Sode no Kuroyuki," she breathed, "Black Snow."

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Zaraki looked up. "Hey," he said. An arrancar leapt at him from the rooftop behind him -- without even turning, Zaraki dispatched it with a single stroke. "Something's goin' on."

A kind of grim peace had settled over the shopping district. Lights still shone in the abandoned store, offering welcoming lit doorways to the countless bodies in the street. Lamps hung serenely over the broken windows, their elegant kanji framed in a soft glow. And everywhere fell the flickering orange light of the great hall. Unohana looked up from the shinigami she was examining. Most of the corpses in the street were arrancar, but not all.

"Something..." she said, uncertainly, extending her spirit senses a little. "Ah," she said finally. "I see. Kurosaki-taichou and ... is that Kuchiki-san?" Although her voice was as calm as ever, the doctor felt a flutter of wonder. It was not like Zaraki to notice something like that. Evidently his shikai raised his awareness, steadied his control. It was possible that he might even manage kidou. Unohana shook her head. Obviously Rakujin, knowing her owner well, had not mentioned this improvement, and Zaraki had not noticed. That was all for the best. He would only think that it was girly.

"Let's check it out," Zaraki grinned, shaking the limp arrancar from his blade. "Things are getting boring, round here."

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ichigo thought he heard one of his ribs crack as he slammed against the wall. He didn't feel anything, but that wasn't surprising. The rest of his body was in far too much pain to notice a measly little rib.

"For the last time," he gasped, struggling to his feet and clearing the blood from his eyes, "just shut up and be rescued, already."

Rukia smiled at that, though the black lips on her black face could hardly be seen. Her stark white robes fluttered wildly about, buffeted by the black and white currents of her enormous power. Then she swung into a low stance, sword balanced above her head, her left hand moving in a spell. In the old days, Hinamori had been the undisputed master of kidou, as Zaraki had been the strongest in swordsmanship. But no one had ever combined the two as fluidly as Kuchiki Rukia.

Before she released her ki, however, a giant form barreled over the neighboring building and slammed into her. She absorbed the impact, turned gracefully in the air, and landed on the far side of the guard tower. The great structure lay in ruins across the road, having been knocked down only moments before.

"Hey there, kid," Zaraki called to her. "Looks like you grew up interestin' after all!"

"No, Zaraki!" Ichigo yelled, pulling himself up. "She's stronger than you thi..."

It was too late. A sheet of darkness wrapped around the giant's body, immobilizing him. Before he could even struggle against it, Rukia appeared before him. Her blade sunk into his chest, emerging from his back without so much as a whisper of sound. Unohana cried out and started towards him, only to engulfed in a wall of white. The healer screamed as the energy seemed to rip at his skin, threatening to tear it away, then slumped lifeless to the ground.

"Enough," Rukia said, standing and facing Ichigo. "Time to finish this."

He just stared at her, his heart in his eyes. A trickle of blood ran down from his mouth, but he made no effort to wipe it away. He knew, they both knew, that he could beat her. It would cost him his soul, that was all. He straightened. The city was quiet, now.

And then, unexpectedly, the city was cold. The chilled air rasped painfully in his lungs, and turned to white clouds when he exhaled. "What the..." he said, turning about. Then Rukia gave a small yelp, and his attention snapped back in her direction. Ice had started to creep up her legs, to form on her clothing. She tried to summon a kidou but found her fingers frozen together, her arms locked up. "Ichigo!" she cried, once, before the ice filled her mouth and covered her face.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Renji was sitting with his back to a great boulder in the shadow of the Soukyoku Hill, and Rangiku leaned against him, her arms clasped about his waist. All around them lay the dead and the dying. Fourth division medics had appeared and were searching for survivors. When they found one, shinigami or arrancar, they administered whatever emergency measures were called for and then carried the patients back to the hospital. Renji thought about calling them over; his leg was broken and he felt lightheaded from the loss of blood. But Matsumoto shifted slightly in his arms, her breath warm against his shoulder, and he decided against it.

"When I was earthside," he said eventually, "I heard a street preacher tell this strange story, a story about a man who wrestled with an angel. The angel was stronger, and broke the man's hip. But the man, beaten and in pain, clenched his hands together and refused to let the angel go."

At first he thought she had fallen asleep. But eventually she turned her head, so that her eyes and nose were nested against his neck. "So who won?" she murmured.

"Well, that's the point, isn't it?" he said. "The man couldn't hurt the angel, but the angel couldn't get away."

They sat for a long time without speaking. The stars had returned, glittering above them, comforting in their unconcern. Renji almost dropped off himself when Matsumoto stirred again. "It doesn't matter," she said softly, kissing him very gently. "Who won and who lost, that is. It's only the struggle that has any meaning."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"NO!" Ichigo sprang forward. Then he saw the attacker, kneeling a few yards behind Rukia's frozen body. Histugaya's hands gripped the handle of his zanpakutou, which had been thrust blade first into the earth. His white head was bowed. Not far away, Yachiru landed with a little hysterical squeal by Zaraki. "Ken-chan!!" she cried, seizing his hair with both hands.

Ichigo snarled and grabbed Hitsugaya by the collar. "Let her go!" he bawled, pushing the smaller man back against the ground. The ice wielder didn't fight back, though his green eyes widened in shock and fear. Ichigo remembered vaguely what Zaraki had said about Hitsugaya's phobia of being pinned. The recollection only made him tighten his hold on the teenager's shoulders. "I swear, Toushirou," he choked, "if you don't ..."

"Stop!" He could barely recognize the wheeze as Unohana's. The healer was standing, heavily bloodied and shaking but alive. "Look closer, Kurosaki-taichou," she said, her voice a little stronger. She knelt by Zaraki's prone body and placed her hands on the massive chest. "Ice preserves."

Not releasing Hitsugaya, Ichigo tuned his head back towards his enemy, his friend, the love of his life. She was encased in a clear, slightly green crystal, her eyes closed and her hands held before her. It took him a moment to notice, but her color had returned to normal. All around her, the perfectly smooth ice walls glinted in the moonlight, surrounding her in a faint glow. She looked at peace.

Ichigo let go of his captive and walked over. Instinctively he raised his hand to the ice, which felt cool, but not cold, under his touch. The crystal was shaped like a cut diamond, like his mother's engagement ring. What had he read about diamonds? he thought. That's right -- they sparkle because their facets trap light inside. Maybe ... He felt a little rush of energy leave his fingers, pulled into the crystal. The glow intensified for a second, and a little color rose in Rukia's pale cheeks.

"It's a healing technique," he heard Unohana say. "Unique to the ice and snow family. One that has been lost for eons, indeed, I had thought it merely legend." Zaraki coughed and spluttered, then struggled to sit up. "Lie still!" Unohana snapped at him. "I'm not done." Yachiru gave a little hiccupping sob.

Unohana continued speaking to Ichigo, though her eyes never left Zaraki's face. "Kuchiki-san, too, is an ice spirit," she said. "That technique will give her time to dream, time to knit her spirit back together. Stay there, Kurosaki-taichou. Let your love shine into her."

Behind Ichigo, Hitsugaya had pulled himself up and knelt wordlessly on the ground. Now that the fight was over, he could feel his mind begin to wander a little. Better not get up, he thought, not until Kurosaki had calmed down. He looked down at his trembling hands. Who was he kidding? he thought vaguely. He didn't have the energy left to stand.

"Why?" Ichigo's voice recalled Histugaya momentarily to the present. "Why would you help her? She said ..." the young man swallowed hard, his brown eyes filled with tears. "She said she hurt you."

It took the teenager a long moment before he could answer. "Yeah well," he said huskily, letting his shoulders slump. "She had her reasons."

"Everyone," Zaraki growled, heaving himself to his elbows, "has their goddamned reasons."

Unohana scooped the distraught Yachiru into a hug. "Do you know," she said, "that's rather well put."

Ichigo leaned up against the ice crystal, letting all of his memories of Rukia fill his heart. "Thank you," he whispered, "Toushirou."

To be concluded

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

_Here's the thing... I made Zaraki's shikai a little lame, because I didn't think he'd like a flashy one (he's a brawler.) But then SilverWhiteDragon suggested a green lighting sword and I thought, you know, that would actually be kind of cool. And that's when I realized that most of you probably have better images in your head than I can write down. So, as much as I'd like to answer some questions, I'm going to leave a bunch of stuff up to the reader's imagination. Whatever you think Rukia did to Hitsygaya, go with that. Same with Yachiru's bankai. And if you've got particularly good ideas, tell me about them! Heck, tell me even if they're not good :)_

_Thanks for hanging in with me so far. The next chapter'll be wind down, with (maybe) one more twist (mwa ha ha ha!)_

_  
(Oh, and does anyone recognize the story of the man and the angel? Think Genesis.)_

_Please let me know what you think! Constructive criticism, flames, grammer nitpicks, random questions, philosophic pondering all welcome._


	10. Chapter 10

_I know this is bragging, but I can't help it -- I get the BEST reviews! You people are so awesome! Thank you thank you thank you thank you! _

_So, here we go ... denouement. Once again, the chapter was a little harder than I expected, and it turned out a little awkward in parts. Please feel free to criticize!_

* * *

Chapter 10

Light

"Pull yourself together, Hisagi-taichou," Koetsu Isane soothed. "You survived. No matter what we have to live with, no matter what we have to face, that is always a good thing."

The young man shook his head, seemingly disoriented. His face was ashen as he leaned against the wall of the fourth division. All around them, nurses and orderlies swarmed, tending to the many wounded. The work was endless, impossible, the hospital smelled of sweat and gore, and yet the fourth division positively hummed with happiness. Kommamura-taichou and Kuchiki-taichou were in bad shape, but they showed every sign of recovering in the long run. Their captain was alive. Their services were needed.

"You don't understand," Hisagi said slowly. "My men and I were trapped against the gate, surrounded, but I wasn't afraid."

Koetsu nodded encouragingly, while she wound a bandage around his arm. It was best to talk these things out, she thought. He didn't even seem to notice his wounds. "Half of my unit fell," he bore on, relentless, "and I rallied the others. I told them death is to be faced on your feet."

"Quite right," the healer answered.

"Another hundred arrancar landed, not too far away. There was one -- I swear -- fifteen foot tall and covered with blood from head to toe. I took him down personally." Hisagi set his jaw. "Then not one, but three Espada appeared, scattering shinigami like so much straw. But still, I felt no fear. I stood my ground."

There was a long silence. The young Captain swallowed. "Then ..." he whispered, "then those two arrived."

His listener looked confused, trying to remember the reports. Her patient had been fighting off a contingent by the West Gate. He had been rescued, hadn't he? By... She followed his eyes to the opposite corner of the wards, where Zaraki-taichou lay in one of their largest beds. His little vice-captain slept in a chair by his bed, her head cradled in her arms, her arms crossed over her adopted father's knees. In the next bed, a lanky white-haired teenager did not lie down as he was supposed to, but sat against the wall with his eyes closed. "Those two? Hitsugaya-taichou and Kusajika-fukataichou?"

Hisagi shuddered and buried his face in his hands. "I'm going to have nightmares for decades."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Taichou?" Matsumoto whispered. She leaned forward, her hair spilling over one shoulder. Hitsugaya didn't answer. He was still sitting on the hospital bed, head drooped, arms draped over his knees.

Unohana put one finger to her lips. "He's out," she said. "I'm afraid he used far more energy than he should have." The healer herself was heavily bandaged, and looked spent. She had been working for five hours now without a break. It wasn't over; probably not all of the survivors had yet been found. Still, things were finally starting to calm down, a very little bit. Cold as it sounded, most of the critically wounded had either stabilized or they had died.

The Captain of the fourth sighed, weariness showing even on her smooth features. "Will you take him, Matsumoto-taichou?" she said quietly. "He's in no danger, and we may need the bed."

The blond stooped down over her captain, slipped her arms under his shoulders and his knees, and lifted him as gently as she could. She was conscious of a slight pang; he was too tall, now, to carry curled to her chest like a child.

Renji stood at the foot of the bed, leaning on a crutch. His leg had been set and cast; the healers couldn't spare the reiatsu to do more. But he barely noticed the pain. Instead his attention was fixed on Hitsugaya's still figure. Rukia's revelation about Inoue's death still burned in Renji's memory; he didn't know what to do with the ache in his chest. Certainly he didn't plan on telling anyone, least of all Rangiku. "He looks so young when he sleeps," the redhead said softly. "So innocent."

Unohana caught something in his tone, something between sadness and anger. She wondered fleetingly what it meant, and then decided, on balance, that she didn't want to know. "Innocence," she said, "is just ignorance, at the end of the day." She glanced down at Yachiru, who was snoring almost as loudly as was Zaraki. "It's nice while it lasts, but not worth the grieving when it's lost. We all fall, eventually." She sighed, rubbing her eyes with the palm of her hand. "What matters is where we go from there."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Ne, Ken-chan,"

"MRghhm?" Zaraki woke to the whispery tickle in his ear, and he found Yachiru perched by his head. Their hospital ward was dark and mostly quiet. A cool, pre-dawn smell seemed to drift into the open windows; it must been a little before five in the morning. A few nurses moved from bed to bed, checking on the patients.

Yachiru was leaning over his pillow, her elbows tucked beneath her, a thoughtful look on her face. "I think I want Snowball to be my boytoy."

Zaraki sighed, throttling back his overpowering rage with effort. It would have to be someone, sometime, he supposed. But he had hoped that he would not have to kill Hitsugaya quite so soon. On the other hand, she was just a mite, as of yet. Be a few years at least before she bludgeoned the boy into seein' things her way.

"Not so fast, 'Chiru," he muttered. "Remember the rules."

Yachiru put a delicate finger to her lips. "He can't touch me till we get married, and we can't get married until after you're dead."

The big man smiled, letting himself sink back into the pillows. "That's my good girl."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Obliterated," Grimmjaw spat. He struggled to maintain his usual sneer as he addressed the assembly. "Fully half of our forces, gone. We estimate over two hundred and thirty have been captured alive."

A ripple of horror passed through the ranks of the Espada. At least, through the ranks that remained. The operation had been a deep dark secret; even those who had left for the Seireitei had learned of it just an hour before they attacked. Some of those seated at the long table were only now hearing of the offensivem just as they learned of the the defeat.

Strangely, the news did not seem to ruffle either Aizen or Ichimaru, though Tousen looked as if he had been punched in the gut.

"Such a shame," murmured the Aizen. "It seemed like quite a good plan."

Gin flashed his eerie smile. "Ah, well, we still outnumber 'em," he said, stretching where he sat. "And Kankura was a dead loss, anyways. Least we slipped a punch in before quittin' on the city. How many did they lose?"

Grimmjaw narrowed his sharp eyes. "Our spy in the Seireitei couldn't say," he said, "at this point they don't know themselves, I'd bet." He paused a moment, grinding his teeth. "We've lost some good men," he burst out, to his own surprise. He hadn't meant to say that.

Aizen raised one eyebrow. "Ah yes. A pity, as I said. Particularly poor Kuchiki-san, though I doubt that they would kill her. Oh, and Ulquiorra. One of our originals, wasn't he? Such a _loyal_ man."

More than one Espada, including Grimmjaw, turned cold at his words. They took care not to look at each other. Surely ... surely Aizen did not know about the League? Even if he suspected, he couldn't have ... he wouldn't have sacrificed so many soldiers just to flush out Ulquiorra's conspiracy. Grimmjaw allowed himself one glance around the table. Four of the five League's leaders had died in the fighting. It wasn't possible ...?

But Aizen's smiling face, hardened by centuries of hidden power, revealed nothing.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"I refuse."

Unohana continued to gaze serenely out onto her garden. It was still a wreck, of course -- one cannot rebuild a thousand years' labor in a week. But it was, yet again, calm. Peaceful.

Yamamoto stirred slightly, shifting his weight form one leg to the next. He was unaccustomed to kneeling. "You cannot refuse, Unohana-taichou," he answered. "There is no one else so qualified."

She regarded him steadily, her hands wrapped loosely around her earthenware cup. The former commander looked, if that were possible, much older than he had last week. Quite aside from his lack of reiatsu and his persistent, shuddering cough, Yamamoto seemed ... delicate. Frail. Broken.

The healer lifted the cup to her lips, savoring the smoky flavor of the green tea. Then she set it down, and faced her former superior officer. "I do not wish to cause offense," she said firmly, "but I have seen first-hand how power corrupts the one who wields it. I have no desire to walk down that road."

The old man did not seem to take offense. "That," he said gravely, "is precisely why you must do it." He coughed, and for a moment his voice seemed to fade. "I cannot pass this burden to someone who does not understand how crushing the burden is."

"You judge me," Yamamoto continued after a pause. "You are right to do so. The enlightened man knows: it is better to die than to do evil.' His voice lowered. "But you know, and I know, that is not a choice available to the ruler. Should he choose to do good even if it means not his death, but the deaths of those entrusted to him? Can he offer his subjects on the alter of his own conscience?"

"And so," Unohana whispered, "the ruler loses his soul for his people?"

The slightest breeze rippled the pools before them, and stirred the wispy reeds that had survived. "Not all sacrifice," Yamamoto growled, "is as simple as a soldier's. Dying for a country is heroic and noble; living for one is thankless and hard."

Unohana shook her head emphatically. "That is the excuse of every tyrant who has ever lived."

Yamamoto heaved a great sigh. "So, don't be a tyrant." He did not try to hide his exasperation. "Do the best you can. I have no doubt," here he gave a rasping little laugh, "that you will do better than I have done."

They sat a long while in companionable silence, watching the late summer sun glimmer on the white pebble lawn. "I will consider your offer, sir," Unohana said at long last. Her voice was still reluctant.

"Consider well," he answered, "If the job can turn you into a monster, what would it do to Kuchiki, or Kyouraku? Ukitake is too ill, Kommamura too timid, and the others are too young. I will not even mention Zaraki." The ex-commander of the gotei 13 stood and hobbled slowly to the door. "You have responsibilities, healer."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ichigo and Rukia stared at each other. Between them, the kidou field occasionally rippled and swirled, caught in the clash of their reiatsu.

They had been doing this, it seemed, for a month now. He came every morning just after daybreak, and sat against the far wall of her cell. She knelt in the middle of the floor, hands on her knees. She cut off all of his efforts to make small talk, and he ruthlessly squelched her attempts to talk about anything serious. She repeatedly insisted that he leave her alone, and he repeatedly told her to put a sock in it. He would stay until noon, when his duties could no longer be ignored, but would always return after supper, and stay until she had fallen asleep.

Rukia looked better. The ice crystal had not changed her physically, but it felt as if it had washed away a great store of accumulated anger. Now her emotions fluctuated wildly and painfully. She was secretly happy that Ichigo left during the day; it gave her time to think, and to cry. But she was happier when he came back in the evening. Being rude to Ichigo gave structure to her life.

Perhaps that was why she was so unnerved when, without warning, the Captain of the Fourth Division called at the cell.

"Kurosaki-taichou," Unohana murmured, as he climbed awkwardly to his feet. "Please do not disturb yourself." She knelt on the floor opposite from Rukia. "Kuchiki-san," she continued, "good evening. You look well. I trust you have been taking the medication I gave you?"

The ex-shinigami nodded, wordlessly. Unohana had visited before, often, but always in the afternoon. Somehow Rukia felt threatened by this sudden change in schedule.

"Excellent." The healer folded her arms into her wide sleeves. With her dark hair plaited before her like a long beard, she looked a little like an ancient Chinese mandarin. "I am sorry that you have been left uncertain as to your status, and your future. As you know, Soul Society has been undergoing administrative changes." Once again, Rukia did not reply. "I have accepted to act as soutaichou, at least temporarily," the woman's face took on a distasteful expression, "and I hope that things will become more organized. The charges will be high treason and espionage. We have managed to set your court date for Septe..."

"WHAT?" both women flinched a little before Ichigo's inevitable explosion. "TREASON? Court date??! Why wasn't I told about this??! If you think I'm gonna..."

Unohana's quiet voice cut his away. "Kurosaki-taichou," she said. "Over five hundred shinigami and almost two hundred civilians have died. It is not right that these things should not be answered for."

Rukia's sat with her back straight and her chin up. "At least it will be quick," she said, "with Hitsugaya and the other prisoners of war, you'll have plenty of witnesses."

If Unohana noticed how Rukia's fingers twisted and untwisted, she gave no sign of it. "Many of the other arrancar are to be released," she said, "in a legitimate prisoner exchange that I have negotiated with Los Noches. That is what I wish to speak to you about tonight. Aizen has particularly asked for you, and I have told him that repatriation will only be voluntary. In other words, the choice is yours, Kuchiki-san. Will you remain here, and submit to our justice?" Two pairs of dark eyes locked on each other. "Or will you return to the Hueco Mundo?"

A long silence fell, a silence not of indecision but of sheer fateful power. "I will stay here," Rukia said at last. Through his reiatsu and through the emptiness, she could feel Ichigo's pulse resume; it had, for a moment, completely stopped.

"Thank you, Kuchiki-san," Unohana murmured. Then she straightened, as if getting back to business. "I am sure that your decision will weigh favorably with the jury. We will not seek the death penalty. As for Hitsugaya-taichou," she said calmly, "he has confessed to the murder of Inoue Orihime, and he will face trial later this month."

"You..." Rukia looked stunned. "You're prosecuting him? But he..." She bit her lip, and looked away.

Ichigo shifted his weight uneasily, and Unohana tilted her head a little. "He what?" she asked. "Do you have anything to say in Hitsugaya-taichou's defense?" When the prisoner did not answer, Unohana folded her hands behind her back. "Hitsugaya-taichou," she said quietly, "has offered to speak in yours."

For a long time, Rukia gazed down, trying hiding her eyes from view. A few splashes fell on her knees, to be quietly absorbed in the fabric. "He's a fool," she finally managed to whisper. "He doesn't know anything about my reasons."

"Do you, Kuchiki-san?" The Captain of the Fourth stood, and she slipped noiselessly to the door. "Do you know your reasons?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

For the first time, Rukia allowed herself to melt down in front of Ichigo. She sobbed, bent over at the waist, while he watched helplessly. She wasn't even sure why she was crying. Maybe it was relief, or fear, guilt or sorrow, or any combination of them all; it didn't matter. She couldn't help herself.

When she had enough control to speak, she wiped her eyes and sat up again. "What are you looking at, baka?" she snapped. "For the last time, Ichigo, will you please just go?" This time, he could tell, she meant it. "Stop coming around here with your puppy dog eyes, asking me to be someone I'm not anymore! You don't understand, it's ..."

Ichigo set him jaw. "Shut up," he said. This time, _he_ meant it.

"It's too late for me! I'll never be the same again! I'm so EVIL!! Blah, blah blah, blah blah blah... SHUT UP!" Rukia blinked at him, nonplussed. "No one ever gets to be the person they were five years ago! Ever!" he went on, striding around and throwing his hands in the air. "People always change, people always screw up, and life never gets easier!" He paused. "We just get stronger, is all.

"Look, you deserve to be in here, Rukia." Ichigo stopped and looked her in the eye. "Is that what you want to hear? It's true." Then he squatted, and put one hand to the kidou barrier, ignoring the shocks that ran through his body. "So do I, so does Toushirou, so do we all, in one way or another.

"You can wallow all you want to," he continued remorselessly, "but you're going to stand trial, and you will do everything you can to convince them that you're sorry, that you're reformed, and that you'll fight against Aizen harder than ever. I don't care," he said, cutting her off as she tried to speak, "if it's true or not. You're going to get as short and easy a sentence as you possibly can, and you'll do it for me." His brows knit. "Because if it's centuries, if it's millennia -- every day you're in prison, I'll be there with you."

He took a deep breath. "And we've got better things to do, you and me."

She lifted one hand to touch the barrier, too overwhelmed to speak. Maybe, she thought, maybe this time I'll let him save me.

Just this once.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The moonlight flooded in through the windows of the tenth division headquarters. It caressed the bare desks and the somber bookshelves, and lingered over the long comfortable couch. Kurosaki hadn't changed the place much, once he was made captain of the tenth. The position had been offered to Matsumoto first, of course, but she had declined. There had been too many memories.

It was an October night, and the wind was high. Dry leaves danced throughout the Seireitei, and their shadows danced in the silent office. In the constantly moving patchy light, it would have been easy to miss the figure that moved like a ghost through the room. He clung to the darkness, in which his black uniform was almost invisible. Only the sparkle of white spiky hair gave him away.

The intruder made his way to the bookshelf behind the main desk. He squatted, and moved his hands in a subtle kidou. A tiny secret door opened in the wall behind the books. Histugaya reached inside, and drew out two satin ribbons. He stared at them for a moment in his open palm. Whatever their original color, they looked jet black in the moonlight. Then he tucked them into the vest of his gi, and walked towards the windows.

"Where are you going?"

He knew the voice immediately, and he was not particularly surprised that she would catch him. Matsumoto knew all of his secrets.

She stepped out of the shadows, her arms crossed and her expression dark. "Just acquitted this morning," she said, her voice low and angry, "and off again tonight?"

He did not answer her, but stood with one hand on the window. His green eyes, caught in the half-light, looked sad.

"I'll ask one more time, Taichou," she stepped forward. She sounded as if she was trying not to sound frightened. "Where are you going?"

"You know that already," he said, turning away. It was the first thing he'd said to anyone for over a week. "I'm going to save Hinamori."

Matsumoto shivered. "Rukia said that Aizen still has her in her dreamland. She's happy there; she's married; she has kids..."

"It's a lie," he said to the window, "I don't know why he's kept it up and I don't care. I'm going to stop it."

"Maybe he really loves her, have you thought about that?" She was almost choking now. "Have you thought that you're going to take away her husband and her children in one stroke, even if you do miraculously succeed?

"It's a lie," he repeated heavily, "and lies don't last. She'll lose them eventually anyway."

"Of course she'll lose them!" she protested. "Everyone loses everyone, sooner or later; that's the cost of loving someone. You don't have to make it sooner!"

Hitsugaya wasn't listening. She knew that determined face of his from way back. And he was so much harder than he had been, so much deadlier. He opened the window with one hand.

Suddenly Matsumoto laughed, a hard and chilling sound. "Haven't figured it out yet, l'il taichou?"

Her tone, and even more, her accent, sent an electric shock through Hitsugaya's body. He spun, his eyes unnaturally wide. Matsumoto advanced on him, running her tongue along her lips. "You really think you could just walk out of our prisons, 'Shirou?" she said, putting both hands on her hips. "You think the Court of Serene Souls could really hold out against an attack like that?"

The teenager took a step backwards, but there was no escape for him. "It's an illusion, silly," Matsumoto smirked. "All of it. Yer still back in the pens. Aizen kinda got tired of you all messed up and animal-like. Thought he'd stitch up your mind some." She leaned forward, a wide sick smile on her face. "Yer so much more fun ta torture when yer lucid."

Hitsugaya reached for his sword, but his hands were shaking too wildly, and it clattered onto the tiles. After a second, his knees gave way, and he dropped trembling to the ground.

This time, however, someone caught him. "Sh, sh, Captain, I'm sorry," Matsumoto cried frantically. "I'm sorry; I didn't know how to stop you." She took both of his hand in hers. "Look, I'm real, I'm here. You're here. You're safe."

The blond realized Histugaya was hyperventilating, drawing in rapid terrified gasps of air, too frightened to think clearly. Suddenly his arms reached around her shoulders, and he hugged her, hard, as if to prove to himself that she was solid. His hands clenched around fistfuls of her uniform. Then he buried his face in her shoulder, and he started to cry.

"Shh..." she soothed, stroking his hair. "It's okay. I'm right here; it'll be okay ..."

Eventually the sobbing receded and he pulled away, wiping his face with one sleeve. He kept his head down, though, unable to look Matsumoto in the face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Her hands rested lightly on each of his arms still. "I shouldn't have ... I'm sorry. But you're not fully recovered yet, and you know it. I'm not letting you run a suicide mission with your mind in this state. Besides," she hesitated a moment, watching him try to pull himself together, "if this world were a fantasy, and really you were still ... you know, over there... would you want to wake up? Would you want me to rescue you, the way you were going to rescue Hinamori?"

He shook his head, exhausted. "No," he said dully. "I would want to stay in the illusion."

This time she pulled him into an embrace. "Then stay with me, Taichou," she pleaded, tears in her eyes. "We'll find a way to save Hinamori, I promise. Just ... stay with us a little longer."

She kissed him on the forehead and held him close. "And when you go," she murmured, "don't you dare leave me behind."

The End

* * *

_Whew._

_Well, I hope you've had fun._

_ It's been a roller coaster to write, for sure._

_Please let me know what you think! (I especially want to know if I caught anyone with the Hueco Mundo/illusion fake-out ... o.O ) _


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